The Second String
by Nancy T
Summary: KU AU 3! When Cas is kidnapped, Sam and Dean take off to rescue him even before being interviewed by the police - even though that makes them persons of interest.
1. Chapter 1

" _Supernatural" is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment Inc._

 _This story is a sequel to my other two "KU AU" stories, "The Fifteenth Secret" and "The Third Bride," but you don't need to read those to know what's going on here. Of course, I hope you'll love this one so much that you'll immediately go read and review the first two._

 _Grateful thanks to: Robyn at Steven Joseph Small Estate Sales Services in Ontario, California; Sgt. Kristen Channel, Public Relations Officer for the Douglas County, Kansas Sheriff's Office; Wendy at the Douglas County Recorder of Deeds' office (who said, "Are you going to put me in your story?"); Professor Paul Mirecki at the University of Kansas Department of Religious Studies; Myron E. Sildon (who knows all about corporate law); Jeanne P. Mosca, Ph.D.; Keith Manis of the Lawrence, Kansas Visitor Center; Zach from the Apple Store in Leawood, Kansas; Ross Edgar of Sallas Auto Repair in Overland Park, Kansas; and, as always, my mother. And to all the great people at LePeep in Lenexa! Thanks, guys!_

.

Castiel Novak smiled broadly, seemingly unaware that the triceratops skeleton behind him looked like it was about to gore him. The caption on his Facebook page read, "CAS NOVAK was at the Field Museum in Chicago," and continued, "And you thought I wouldn't have any fun!"

The comments string below began with Dean Winchester's "So on your last day you get to have some fun?"

Cas' reply: "I had an interesting talk yesterday about 12th-century humanistic thinkers with a professor at UChicago."

Dean's reply: "What? Sorry, I dozed off."

Comment by Rachel Novak: "Envy, envy! I've always wanted to see it."

Reply by Cas: "When you do, allow at least a half day. I only allowed two hours, which was laughably too little."

Comment by Pamela Seering: "You look like you're having a great time! Did you get to the aquarium?"

Cas' reply: "Alas, no. Next trip."

.

Since Dean was standing at a luggage carousel in Kansas City International Airport, presumably he was expecting someone, but he looked astonished nonetheless. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Hey, we missed Cas too," Jess said with a huge grin.

"Thought we'd meet up with you guys and take you to dinner," Sam said with a huge grin.

Dean looked back and forth between them. "OK. What's going on?"

"Nothing," in perfect unison, then they looked at each other and laughed.

Suspicion deepened on Dean's face. "OK, what – "

Jess' expression changed suddenly. "I didn't even think about this. Cas has been gone for ten days, you guys probably want some alone time."

"Well – "

"Really, it's OK. Sam and I can just take off, and we could maybe go out tomorrow."

"No, it's fine, we'd both like to hang out with you guys. And I want to know what's going on," Dean said directly to Sam, who grinned back. "You're not planning on coming back to the apartment with us afterward, are you?"

They both laughed heartily, and Dean gave them another suspicious look.

"Oh good, a committee," said a quiet deep voice behind them.

Dean spun, hugged Cas hard for a moment, then quickly released him. "Man, it's good to see you."

Cas put a hand on Dean's arm, smiled into his eyes. "I missed you."

Dean, never the best at public displays of affection, nodded. "Me too."

There was a thud and roar as the luggage carousel started up. "I'm gonna get that," Dean announced. "Just the one bag, right?"

Cas nodded, and Dean charged off.

"How was your flight?" Sam asked.

"The flight was good, but the only lunch I had was some trail mix at Midway. I'm very ready for dinner."

"That's great, we were suggesting that we take you guys to dinner," Sam said.

"Unless you'd rather have dinner by yourselves," Jess added.

"No, I'd enjoy that." Cas was watching Dean help a mother with two small children retrieve her luggage from the carousel. "It'll be my treat, though."

"Really, we want – "

"We'll fight about it later," Sam said. "So – did you make any decisions?"

Cas was quiet, seeming abstracted.

"Cas?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Cas smiled. "I'm tired."

"Understood. I just wondered if you'd made any decisions."

"They all have good points," Cas said, as Dean helped an old man pull a huge rolling suitcase off of the carousel. "The University of Chicago is the closest, of course."

"A major plus," Sam said.

"I saw the Field Museum picture on your Facebook page," Jess said.

"Whether I get my doctorate there or not, I've got to get back to Chicago someday. You can't squeeze the Art Institute and the Field Museum into a half day and do them justice."

Dean pulled Cas' suitcase off the carousel and headed back to them, smiling.

"Do you know where the Capital Grille is?" Cas asked them.

Jess' jaw dropped. "On the Plaza, yeah, but Cas, that's – "

"My treat, my choice. Is Capital Grille OK with you?" he asked Dean.

"Sure. Call from the car and find out if they can get us in, and we'll meet up there. Where are you guys parked?"

"Upper deck," Sam said.

"Me too," and, running one hand quickly across Cas' back, Dean yielded the suitcase to him and they headed out as a group.

There was a silver Toyota Corolla parked two rows in back of Dean's Impala. The driver was running the engine for the air conditioning, but as soon as the four emerged from the elevator and onto the top parking deck, he cut the engine and slid down a little in his seat. He needn't have bothered; he'd chosen his parking place well, and each of the two couples was too focused on each other to bother with noticing parked cars.

"My humidity standards have changed," Cas was saying, not that the driver of the Corolla could hear him. "If you think a city at the intersection of two rivers is humid, try one sitting on a Great Lake."

"So basically, don't even bother with setting my hair?" Jess said.

"Not in July, certainly."

"We're over there," Sam said, pointing to his blue Charger. "We'll talk more at Capital Grille." Jess giggled, for some reason.

"See you there," Dean said, and opened the Impala's trunk. Cas put his suitcase inside and closed it as Dean went to the driver's-side door.

When both Dean and Cas were inside the Impala, the Corolla's engine started up again.

Sam held open the passenger door of the Charger for Jess, and she gave him a kiss as she got in. As he slid into the driver's seat, she said, "I think we should at least go Dutch treat at dinner. That must have been an expensive trip for Cas, four cities in ten days, and Capital Grille isn't exactly McDonald's."

"His dad paid for the trip. Mr. Novak is really enthusiastic about education, and when Cas told him the four places he was considering to get his doctorate, Mr. Novak insisted that Cas fly around, see the places in person, meet some people, then decide where to apply. Cas is probably using some of the leftover funds his dad sent him for the trip to buy us dinner."

"But – if he can do that, why was Cas living in a scholarship hall for three years? You have to be pretty low-income for that, don't you?"

"Sort of. I mean, Dad's not poor, but I got into a scholarship hall because he was operating on one income and had Dean and me in college at the same time."

"And you're brilliant."

Sam laughed, pulling up behind Dean at the parking lot's ticket booth. The silver Corolla pulled up behind Sam's car. "Well, Cas is for sure, of course. His dad had just bought a hunting-supplies store when Cas started college, and his mom was a cashier at a crafts store, so he was paying off a big loan and she wasn't exactly rolling in dough."

"But now they're rich?"

"A lot of that happened while you were away." Sam said it easily, as though Jess had just taken a long vacation, but she blinked, looking down at her hands. "Mr. Novak expanded the business into all kinds of outdoor products. Then he built several branches in the western U.S. Then just recently he helped Mrs. Novak start up a gardening supplies store, that was kind of her dream, and now that's expanding too."

Jess said, "So basically, if you want to grow something, ask the Novaks."

"For sure." Sam pulled forward, paid for the parking, and drove on.

"Well, that explains the trip they're on now. I was thinking that must take some serious money."

Sam smiled. "The first hint I had about this was Cas' graduation, his parents bought him a pair of 18-karat-gold cufflinks."

"Wow." The impressed look on Jess' face turned to bemusement. "I'm sure they're gorgeous, but what the heck does Cas ever do where gold cufflinks make sense?"

"That was what he said to Dean and me afterward. Dean said, 'You can wear 'em when we get married.'"

"There you go!" Then, as they drove down a long ramp to I-29, Jess sobered. "I'm worried about him."

"Dean? Or Cas?"

"Well, both, a little. I mean, I totally understand why Cas wants a doctorate. If you're going to do college-level teaching it's really good to have one, and I understand that KU doesn't offer a doctorate in religious studies. And I totally understand that the plan is for Dean to take over Bobby's business someday, and he doesn't want to just leave town for four years or so. It just seems like it's going to be hard on both of them."

"It will be," Sam said simply.

Then after a moment, "You know, Cas will come back as often as he can, Dean will go there as often as he can. We'll keep Dean busy doing stuff. And four years isn't forever."

"True," Jess said. "You know, it just struck me when I saw him at the airport, I'm going to miss Cas too."

"We all will. But it'll be really good for him, so we'll all deal with it."

Jess gave a sudden mischievous smile. "Maybe they'll get married after Cas gets back."

"Or maybe before he goes," Sam said with an answering smile. "They might be struck with an inspiration from somewhere."

In the Impala, Dean glanced over at Cas. "You seem tired."

"I'm just thinking. I've been doing a lot of that."

"Uh-oh, that's dangerous."

Cas smiled.

"I hope this dinner thing with Sam and Jess is OK. They just showed up at the airport grinning from ear to ear, wanting to go to dinner. Something's goin' on with them."

"Or they're in love."

"Mm," Dean said, glancing at the Charger in his rear-view mirror.

"You're going to have to forgive Jess someday. Sam has, long since."

"Yeah, well, Sam's a better person than I am."

Cas chuckled. "No, he's not."

"She dumped him, Cas. She went off and joined a cult. She slept with the cult leader. And Sam forgave her and took her back. Yeah, he's better than I am."

"I don't think so. I think you resent Sam's being hurt more than Sam does. And I think that's natural. If some jerk hurt Rachel and she took him back, I'd probably hold that grudge for a long time. If I hurt you and you took me back, Sam probably wouldn't speak to me for ages."

With reluctance in his face, Dean gave a half-nod. "Yeah. But you'd never find anyone as hot as me."

"True."

"Unless it was maybe a professor who could discuss 12th-century humanistic thinkers."

Cas smiled at him. "She wasn't really my type."

"A-ha."

"Keep in mind, Sam didn't take Jess back instantly," Cas said. "They had a kind of – tentative friendship for a few months, and then they both decided that some time totally apart would be a good idea. Later they both decided that they were happier together than apart, they dated for a while, and now they've been living together for six months. And Sam seems very happy."

"Yeah. I'm just afraid she'll pull something like that again."

"I don't think she will. I don't think she ever stopped loving Sam. She had some problems, and she felt like she had to cut off part of her life to be honest in the other part. She chose wrong. And she knows that."

"Hope so."

Dean cast another glance at Sam's car in the rear-view mirror. Two lanes over, the silver Corolla drove sometimes parallel to and sometimes slightly behind the Impala and the Charger. None of the four noticed it. There are a lot of cars like that on the road, which was why the Corolla's driver had chosen it.

.

When Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jess emerged from a Plaza parking garage, a man was standing among some five-foot-tall shrubbery in front of an apartment building next to the Capital Grille. Apparently he hadn't expected that they would walk so close to him, and he slipped further back among the bushes as Dean and Sam contended for the honor of door-holding. When the laughing group went inside, the man stood still for a minute, apparently thinking about something. Then he walked to the apartment building's parking lot, where the Corolla was parked, got in and drove away.

Once the waiter had given them menus and taken their drink orders, Dean turned to Sam, who was sitting across from Cas. "OK, spill it."

"Spill what?" Sam asked innocently.

"Whatever you two have been giggling about since I laid eyes on you."

Sam chuckled. Jess was doing something with her purse, which was on the seat next to her.

"Actually, it probably won't be a big shock," Sam said. "But Jess and I were out yesterday, and I just thought, what the heck, I'm going to ask her to marry me."

Jess extended her left hand across the table to Dean. It was adorned with a simple platinum band with a small but brilliant diamond. "And I thought, what the heck, I'm going to say yes."

"Wonderful!" Cas said, as Dean smiled and spent a moment looking at Jess' hand. Then Dean looked over at Sam. "Congratulations, man. Well, congratulations to both of you."

"Let's see the rock, Jess," Cas said, and she showed it to him.

"It's not a rock," Sam said. "I actually wanted to give her something a little bigger, but this is the one she wanted."

"It's a beautiful diamond," Cas said. "You have good taste, Jess. Well, both of you do." He smiled at Sam. "Congratulations."

"Have you told Dad yet?" Dean asked.

"We called the parents first thing. Couldn't get hold of Dad until today, but finally did, and I told him not to tell you until we did."

"Have you set a date?" Cas asked.

"Well – " Sam said.

"The future," Jess laughed.

"I'll be in law school for three years. We're thinking after I've finished two years, or maybe right after graduation, although that seems like a long time. But we sure don't want to wait until I pass the bar exam, it might take me a few tries to do that – "

Jess gave a light, high "Ha!"

"Well, you never know. Not to mention the time it would take job-hunting. So we're not going to wait until I'm an employed lawyer. Two, maybe three years, and until then I'll just be her kept man."

Jess made a face. "You work. You are not kept."

"Yeah, but it makes me sound hot when I say that."

"So you're going to stay at the real estate agency?" Dean asked Jess.

"Yeah. I'd like to finish my degree someday, but I want to make sure it's a field I really want to devote my life to, not just –" she gestured – "something that seems appropriate to my family, or whoever."

Dean nodded.

"Office manager isn't an exciting title, but it's actually interesting work. You deal with a lot of different things, you don't just do the same thing all day. I'm actually enjoying it."

Jess was addressing Dean directly, as if she were trying to persuade him of something. He nodded. "Well, that's good."

"I think you've got a sensible plan," Cas said. "I just wish we had something to make a toast – Perfect timing."

A waiter filled their water glasses, and Cas lifted his. "To Sam and Jess. Congratulations and much happiness in your future together."

"Sam and Jess," Dean said, also lifting his glass, and everyone took a drink of water.

"Anyway, whatever date we pick, you'll have to come back to town for the wedding," Sam told Cas.

"I wouldn't miss it."

"Did you get a chance to do anything but fly and see colleges?"

"Not much," Cas said thoughtfully, "but that was all right. I met some interesting people, got some good – "

His voice drifted off. Sam and Dean exchanged a quick glance.

" – some good advice. Occasionally – "

After a moment he looked up and smiled. "I'm sorry. Something happened yesterday that's making me think."

Dean looked at him keenly. Sam said, "What was it? Do you mind if I ask?"

"Not at all. I was having lunch with a professor at UChicago, she was giving me some guidance, and then we drifted into a discussion of Peter Abelard."

"If I had a dime for every time that happened – " Jess began, and Sam laughed.

"Middle Ages philosopher," Dean said. "He was one of the first guys to bring religious philosophy out of the how-many-angels-can-dance-on-the-head-of-a-pin thing, apply it to real human problems."

Sam outright gaped.

Grinning, Dean pointed at Cas. "You live with the guy, you gotta pick up something."

"He's a very interesting writer," Cas said, "and the professor is one of the nation's most respected scholars on the subject. But I kept being distracted by a lady two tables over. She was sitting by herself, reading a book, eating lunch, and she was crying. She wasn't at all obvious about it. I doubt if anyone else in the restaurant even noticed, except her server. She'd just read her book, wipe off a tear. Take a sip of iced tea, wipe away a tear. I found myself – "

He hesitated, and the other three listened breathlessly.

" – torn between how interesting my discussion was and, and an interest in the lady that was both emotional and intellectual. How does someone feel such obviously powerful emotion and cover it almost completely? What was happening there? If I'd been by myself, I don't know, but I might have gone over to see if – to ask her if – "

"Oh, I know for sure," Dean said. "There's no 'might have' about it. You'd have gone over to talk to her."

"And you'd have helped her a lot," Jess said, speaking from personal experience.

"And then you'd have gotten involved with a lawsuit – " Dean said, and grinned as Cas shot him a reproving look.

"What?" Sam said.

"You remember the big sexual harassment scandal that blew up at Gaillard Publishing a couple months ago?"

"I remember you and Cas talking about it. You know – " Sam looked at Cas – "when you decided to take six months away from classrooms and went to work at a publishing company, I was laying odds with Jess that you'd stay there permanently."

"It was interesting work."

"What exactly happened there? I didn't really keep track," Jess said.

"The company founder – a guy named Dick, appropriately – would hit on young male employees," Dean said. "Sometimes he specifically hired these guys to hit on them."

"How long did that go on?" Jess asked.

"Years," Dean said.

"He would begin by pretending he wanted to be their mentor, saying he thought they were exceptional and special," Cas said. "He'd end up telling them that they'd never work again if they reported him. Keep in mind, things are difficult with print media these days. Jobs are hard to come by, even for people who love the field and want to devote their lives to it. None of them wanted to take the risk."

"But what did you have to do with it?" Sam asked. "I don't remember your mentioning that at all."

"I didn't even know myself," Dean said, "until a guy named Alan showed up at our door one day, shaking like he'd been in a blender, telling Cas he'd just reported the whole thing to a vice president. So guess who Alan had been spilling his guts to for a couple of months, and getting one of the other victims to spill his guts to?"

Sam smiled widely. "You convinced him to report it."

"I did not 'convince' him," Cas said quietly, stubbornly. "I mainly listened to him, asked a question from time to time. He needed self-assurance, but inside he knew what he had to do."

"And he convinced the other guy," Dean said, "and the other guy went to the Kansas City _Star_ , and they found other victims, and the next thing you know, Dick is being forced to resign as president of his own company and a couple of the victims are filing lawsuits. And in all that, guess whose name never gets mentioned once?"

Sam laughed. "I'm amazed. But not surprised."

Cas smiled. "The point is, between the editing, which was quite satisfying, and the experience of talking to Alan, I'm beginning to – "

Again, his audience was breathless. Sam shot a look at Dean's expression.

"I'm beginning to question my devotion to academic life. There's still a great deal that's appealing there, but there's also a great deal of stress, and you have to be absolutely certain – "

He looked up and around. "We should talk about something besides me."

"Chablis for the lady," their server announced, appearing beside them with their drinks. He distributed the others, then asked if they'd had a chance to look at their menus. Fortunately, Cas had a favorite order, so he gave that to the waiter, drawing out the details long enough that everyone else could do a fast menu scan.

"How's Dad doing?" Sam asked Dean when they'd ordered.

"Real busy. Doing OK, but you know how he gets when he's got a heavy-duty case."

Sam grimaced. "So of the three days in Wichita you got like, what, an hour with him?"

"A little more than that. We watched a couple of Royals games on TV, had some pizza at the station. But – yeah." Dean shrugged. "Sometimes you plan things, and then some guy decides to do a home invasion and kill two people, and the plans go out the window. I understood."

"He should have asked you to help out," Jess said, and Dean laughed. "I'm serious. You and Sam caught a serial rapist. And a murderer."

"With your help," Sam said.

"Yeah, and you know what his response to that was," Dean said, grinning. "Very good work, sons. But next time – "

Sam chorused with him, in unison, "Let the police do their jobs!"

"Did they catch the killer?" Cas asked.

Dean shook his head. "Not yet. But they will. Dad's after him."

Cas gave a small smile and nod. Jess said, "Let me know when he does. Scary to think about someone like that running around loose just a couple of hours away."

Sam touched her arm gently. Dean changed the subject, talking about a NAPA class about German cars he was going to be taking in August. "You just took one of those a few months ago, didn't you?" Sam asked.

"That was the VisionKC Expo. They have all kinds of classes, but that one I went to more for the business side – marketing to millennials, things like that."

They were well into their meal, just wrapping up a discussion of current movies, when Jess said to Dean and Cas, "Speaking of this weekend – I was wondering if I could ask a big favor of you two. I've already got Sam roped in, but you know," she batted her eyelashes, "the more big strong men are involved, the faster the work will go."

Cas laughed. Dean said, "Uh-oh."

"You remember my friend Catherine?"

"Older lady," Dean said. "She just died and you're her executor."

"Yes. She was widowed with no children, and – she was a little cranky, but not that bad. For some reason, though, she ended up alone." There was a tear in her eye. "Just a cousin in Fort Hays that she didn't have much contact with."

"And you," Cas said.

Jess smiled. "Anyway, her will stipulates that her cousin should go through the house and take what items of personal property she wanted, and then the rest of the property and the house should be liquidated, the court costs and taxes and lawyer get paid from that. Then I get two percent of the remainder, and the rest of it goes to the KU College of Liberal Arts and Sciences. So I hired – well, the estate hired, she had a savings account that I'm paying the expenses from – a woman who does estate sales to go through the house and see if it would be worth it to her to arrange an estate sale. Unfortunately, the cousin arrived on the same day as Cynthia, the estate-sale lady, and went through the house with us. Every time Cynthia would point out a piece of furniture and say, 'That could be a draw, we could get some pretty good money for that – '"

"The cousin said, 'By coincidence, that's one of the things I want,'" Dean said.

"You got it. By the time she was through, all that was left was the kind of thing you can sell at a garage sale for a few bucks each. It wasn't worth Cynthia's time and effort to do the estate sale, but she let me know the best way to present what was left at our own sale. The point is, for all practical purposes, the house is the estate."

"And it's a pit," Sam said.

"Well, the Realtor says it 'has good bones' – you know, it's structurally sound, no leaks. But real vigorous housework and yard work were just too hard for her. She kept her dishes washed and floors swept and toilet scrubbed, she hired a neighborhood kid to keep the yard mowed, but that was pretty much all."

"I'm beginning to see the big favor coming down the tracks," Dean said.

"It's a Victorian house in the Old West Lawrence Historic District," Jess said. "It's not like we won't get plenty of money for it. But we'd get more if the house and yard looked good and clean. Mostly it needs dusting and vacuuming, hardwood floors cleaned, some major scrubbing in the kitchen and bathrooms. Outside there are some bushes that could use pruning and piles of dead leaves from the last couple of winters. And the personal property that we're going to try to sell needs to be cleaned up too. If you guys wouldn't mind putting in a few hours, the estate can pay you."

Cas shook his head, and at the same time Dean said, "Not necessary. Supply us with pizza and beer, we'll call it good. When?"

"I was thinking of this Saturday."

"I've got to work Saturday this week," Dean said. "I'm off Friday, but you have to work then, right?"

Jess tipped her head. "Actually, it'd be a good idea to take a three-day weekend. I could make some real progress, especially if it started with all of us spending a day. And I'm pretty sure I can – yeah, Friday's good. Is that OK for you?" she asked Sam.

"Yeah, I don't go in to work until six, so I'm in."

"And I," Cas said. "I've always wanted to see the inside of one of those places."

"It's interesting in there. Jess can tell you all about it," Sam said. "She's become an expert on Victorian houses."

Jess said ruefully, "Not really an expert, but I've had a crash course. Say nine-thirty, pizza at noon?"

"Sale for the big bucks thereafter," Sam said.

"To Catherine's generosity." Cas raised his glass. "And to the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences."

Everyone drank to that. Dean said, "You're just a toasting fool tonight."

"I'm happy to be back."

"To Cas being back!" Sam said cheerfully. As they drank, Dean gave Cas' arm a gentle squeeze. Sam and Jess exchanged a glance.

.

The silver Corolla pulled into a double garage, where it parked next to a black Mini Countryman. The garage door closed as the driver got out.

Once in the house, he went straight through the kitchen to a black drape that hung over the entrance to the next room. He pushed the drapery back behind a chair so that the kitchen light could get in, because every light in the next room was out. Not even street light got through the blackout blinds pulled to full length and duct-taped to the bottom of the window. The floor was covered with sturdy black plastic sheeting.

After a pause for his eyes to adjust, he crossed the room to a floor lamp and turned it on. It had a 200-watt bulb, and as he tipped the shade, harsh light spilled over the room. The he went back to turn off the kitchen light and let the black drapery swing back, covering the kitchen entrance.

Along a wall near the floor lamp, there was a long collapsible table with several 14-by-22-inch pieces of white poster board leaning against one leg. The table bore an iPhone, a decanter and glass, a roll of duct tape and scissors, a yard of black nylon cord, a pair of handcuffs, and what looked like a large black flashlight with a ring of notched metal around one end.

The man poured a drink from the decanter and took a sip. Then he crossed the room, where a heap of black cloth lay on the floor next to the kitchen entry, along with a hammer and nails.

The wall next to the kitchen entry was more than long enough to hang the flag stretched at its full length. He used four nails, then crossed the room to stand by the lamp and take a sip of his drink, looking at the way the white symbols of the ISIS flag against the black ground reflected the harsh light.

Then he left, returning a couple of minutes later with a simple but sturdy chair and a table lamp. He put the lamp on the long table, pushing aside the decanter to do it. The table lamp also had a 200-watt bulb, and he tipped the shade back on that as well, casting more light across the room on the ISIS flag.

He put the chair in the middle of the plastic sheeting, so that anyone sitting in it would be facing the lamps with his back to the flag. He picked up the phone, turned on its video camera, and looked at the chair sitting in the light, with black plastic underneath and the black flag behind.

He nodded, turning off the camera. Then he turned off both lamps, took his drink, and left the room through the swinging hallway door.


	2. Chapter 2

_I wanted to write this story for four years, and couldn't get the right "hook." Then my friend Robyn, who is an incredible blend of creativity and supportiveness, came up with the perfect hook. She is so cool. I just wanted to say that._

.

Cas happened to be standing in the parking lot with his back to the street when the silver Corolla drove by. He was talking to a young couple, and standing right next to his car. The silver car drove on.

Meantime, Jess' car pulled into a narrow lane behind a row of large old houses, then turned again into a two-car garage built of the same stone that made up Catherine's house. Cautiously, Dean pulled the Impala into the same garage. Getting out of the car, he looked at the stone wall next to him. "I wasn't expecting a two-car garage."

Sam and Jess were already standing by Jess' car. "Keep in mind that it used to hold a carriage and a horse or two," Jess said. "Of course, that was a long time before the automatic garage door was installed."

"Where's Cas?" Sam asked.

"He ran across a guy he used to be a teaching assistant for when he was getting his master's. The guy's thinking of getting a doctorate and wanted to pick Cas' brain, and he was introducing Cas to his wife. He'll be here in a few."

Jess opened the garage door, which led into a narrow strip of yard surrounded by a high fence. "Most of the houses in the district are like this, a detached garage behind the house that you get into from an alley that runs behind all the houses on the block. Then a passage between the garage and the house, with a privacy fence on either side. Some people have their whole back yard fenced off, some just fence off a wide passage between the garage and the back door."

They followed her to the back door of the house, which she unlocked. They walked into the kitchen, which was large, with a 12-foot-high ceiling. Sam glanced up at cobwebs in the high corners; Dean swung open a little door that sat at about chest level. "Interesting contrast, the dumbwaiter with the modern appliances."

"Sort of modern," Sam laughed, indicating the avocado-colored oven and countertops.

Jess smiled. "They bought this house about 40 years ago. Catherine's husband owned an insurance company, and they were really well off at the time. But when he got sick it lasted for a long time, and it really ate into their savings. Even after he died, Catherine spent a lot of the life insurance money paying off medical debts."

She was leading them into a large, essentially empty room with a six-foot-wide bay window. "When I met her she was a receptionist working at the agency. But receptionist work, you know, doesn't pay much. She was getting to the point where she felt like she was going to have to sell the house to have money to live on."

"I can see where she'd hate to do that," Dean said, looking out the window which, despite being grimy, was spectacular. Then he smiled. "Here he comes."

Dean moved into the main hall, where a heavy door inset with strips of leaded glass, not at all grimy, gleamed prismatically. Sunlight was coming through from the other side, and when he opened the door he discovered a small foyer, only about five feet deep, with the house's massive wooden door on the other side. Light poured through more prismatic leaded-glass strips on both sides of the front door and through a transom above it. In spite of this beauty, Dean stopped for a moment to look at the staircase before he opened the door and gave a quick wave.

Cas' car pulled over to the curb and stopped. Jess joined Dean on the porch as Cas got out of the car. "I'm just giving a tour," she called as Cas crossed the few yards of lawn, which sloped upward sharply from the street. "You haven't missed any of the work!"

"Oh, thank goodness," Cas said dryly, and went inside, closing the door as a silver Corolla drove past.

"We were in the dining room," Jess said as they moved back in there. "This and the living room are where we'll have the sale."

Cas looked around. "I like those glass shelves across the big window, with the different-colored glass things."

"Isn't that pretty? Today I'm going to clean the window and shelves and those figurines. They're worth like a buck or two each, but they'll be really appealing there."

Dean laughed, pointing at a dinette set that was dwarfed in the large room. "So I take it the cousin didn't want the Formica table and three plastic-upholstered chairs?"

Jess rolled her eyes. "Those were in the breakfast nook. There was a gorgeous cherry-wood table in here with carved legs, but yes, the cousin wanted that."

"The upside is, it probably cost her a small fortune to have all the stuff she took moved back to Fort Hays," Sam said.

Dean moved over by another wall, looking at a shelf slightly above his eye level. It was about three inches deep, fronted with pretty carved wood, and ran the length of the wall. "Now I know that's not a bookshelf."

"It's a plate rail," Jess said. "Mostly you see them in Victorian homes."

Dean looked dubious. "You'd have to stand the plates on their sides."

"That was the point. Partly storage, partly to show off your fine china."

"OK. Yeah, I remember the Victorians were seriously into status symbols."

"The rich ones were."

"When was this house built?" Cas asked.

"1890."

They went through the large living room, gaping at murals of European scenes painted on the top two feet of the walls. When they stepped back into the main hall from the living room, Dean went straight back to the oak staircase with a beautiful carved post at its base and turned-wood spindles holding up the banister. "Look at this woodwork," he said, running his hand over the intricacies of the newel post.

"You want some time alone with it?" Sam asked.

"Yes."

"That could be arranged," Jess said. "As you can see, it's dull – years of use, years since it's been polished. I was thinking that it would be a lot of work to take some Liquid Gold to that, but if you like – "

"I'd like."

"Great," Jess said. "If buyers walk in past that glasswork Sam cleaned and the first thing they see is that woodwork glowing, they'll pull out their checkbooks right there."

"Beautiful work, Sam," Cas said. "It must have taken a long time to clean."

"Jess had the breakfast nook and most of the kitchen done by the time I was through."

Opening the foyer door, Jess kissed Sam, then led them back out onto the long front porch. A white railing ran along the porch, and four pillars supported an overhang. Lacy white woodwork formed decorative arches between the tops of the pillars and between the pillars and the house. It would have been beautiful if it hadn't been dirty and, in some places, peeling.

"OK, yeah, this all needs repainting," Dean said.

"I have to check on what we can do there. I mean, I'm sure we can paint it, but it is a Historic District. And that's going to be a huge job, I figured I'd get professionals."

Cas had descended the three steps from the porch and was backing across the small front lawn. "It looks all right from the street," he said, "but there's no question it'd be better if the paint was clean and the overgrown bushes were trimmed."

"Here's the way I thought we'd do it," Jess said. "First, we clean the downstairs thoroughly. There are a few pieces upstairs that we ought to get at least a little money for – a headboard, an arched etagere, some things like that. Some of them came from the attic – along with a bunch of trash – and that's all cobweb city. We clean them, along with the smaller items, upstairs, and bring them down to the dining room and the front room where we'll have the actual personal-property sale. Then we clean the upstairs, then we have the sale, and then we worry about the floors and the outside while the Realtor hovers."

"Sounds like a plan," Cas said.

"The stuff for the sale has little red stickers on the back. Everything else is just stuff to throw out. I've put trash bags in each room, and there are brooms, paper towels, cloth rags, Liquid Gold, and glass cleaner in the dining room. I'm going to finish up in the kitchen, and then do the big window and glass shelves in the dining room. I'll run out for pizza at noon, and we can all take a break."

"And, um – " Dean said.

"I just put soft drinks and beer in the refrigerator yesterday," Jess said with a grin.

Dean pointed at her. "You have management potential."

.

More than hours later, Jess jumped down clumsily from the four-foot-high cabinets under the dining room's bay window. The window shone, the glass shelves shone, and every glass figurine on them shone. Jess was not shining. "Oh, I am so going to need Aspercreme tonight." She collapsed in one of the three chairs.

Sam stood in the dining room's entrance to the main hall, next to a freshly cleaned headboard and dresser from upstairs, and shouted up. "Hey Dean! Lunchtime!"

Cas, carrying Liquid Gold and a dirty rag, entered the dining room from the living room. "We need more trash bags in the living room."

Jess looked around. "We're out in the dining room and kitchen, too. Maybe there are some upstairs."

Dean walked in. "Hey Jess, we're only about halfway done upstairs, and we're out of trash bags."

Jess shook her head as if it took some effort. "Obviously I underestimated the amount of trash. I'll get some when I'm out getting pizza."

"And some more bar rags or dish towels or something," Dean said. "They're all filthy now, and I still have the staircase to do."

"OK. Cloths, trash bags, pizza."

"Guillermo's," Sam said. He was standing beside Jess, rubbing her shoulders.

Jess looked up at him. "That's clear up on 23rd. We're like two minutes from all kinds of pizza places downtown."

"Are they Guillermo's?"

"Yeah, good point." Slowly, Jess reached under the table for her purse. "OK. Here I go."

"I'll go," Sam said. "I'm the one who picked the place."

"Would it be all right with you if I went?" Cas asked. "I'd like to get out for a few minutes."

"You're going to do that thinking thing again, aren't you?" Dean said. "If you don't stop, you'll go blind."

Cas smiled and turned to go.

"Castiel Novak!" Jess called, reaching into her purse. "Don't you dare leave without money. I drafted you guys into hard labor, you are not going to pay for this meal. Or any supplies."

Cas took the money and headed for the front door. Dean's gaze followed him. "He really oughta wear jeans more often."

Sam, still caressing Jess' shoulders, rolled his eyes. "Spare us."

"Oh, what?" Dean said. "I have to watch you two canoodling in every room in the house, I can't make one comment?"

"He has a point," Jess said.

"Don't encourage him. Beer?"

"Oh, yes," Jess said.

"Hell, yes," Dean said.

.

Guillermo's was in an L-shaped shopping center; one arm was a large supermarket, the other was a series of small shops, including the pizza place. A large parking lot covered the space between the arms.

Cas pulled into a space in the middle of the lot, turned off the ignition, and sat for a moment, looking at the dashboard without seeing it.

A silver Toyota Corolla drew to a stop a few yards to his left and sat with the engine running. Probably someone thinking Cas was about to leave and wanting his parking space.

He got out of his car and closed the door, and the silver car pulled directly in front of him. The passenger side of the Toyota was closest to him, and the window rolled down.

Looking curious, he bent a little to look inside the car. The driver was wearing a ski mask, and lifted something that looked like a large flashlight. Two prongs shot out of it and struck Cas in the thigh.

He was on the ground. His leg hurt, but that wasn't the terrifying part. He couldn't control his body. He was trying to stand, just brace his hands on the ground, and he was watching his arm doing a useless spasm. He tried to call out, but by that time the driver had moved quickly from the driver's seat around the car and was crouched between their two cars. He put duct tape over Cas' mouth and rolled Cas over.

Cas tried to fight, but still his muscles would obey no command. He felt handcuffs locking his hands behind his back, then something dark was yanked over his head. His cell phone was pulled out of his back jeans pocket.

He heard a car door open. The man lifted him under both arms and shoved him. He landed on a car seat, obviously the Toyota's, and his legs were doubled, forced down in front of the passenger seat, and heard the car door slam, felt the impact against his heel.

The driver's side door opened and Cas' head and shoulders were shoved back and down. Wedged onto the floor, he could tell that something lightweight but dark colored had settled over him – a blanket or something, hiding him. The driver's side door closed.

Just as he began to feel like he was recovering use of his muscles, he heard a loud click. "I just reloaded the Taser cartridge." A hard voice with precise diction. "If you move or make any sound, I'll shoot you again."

The engine slipped into gear and the car moved.

.

Cas was fighting for breath – partly because of the tape over his mouth, partly because his body was crushed into a small space, partly panic.

He tried to calm himself, to focus on which way the car turned or how long it was taking, but his mind was screaming and focus was almost impossible. He did manage to calm his throat and chest enough that he didn't feel like he was gagging or suffocating.

He could not think why this was happening. Mistaken identity? And if it was, would he be killed as soon as the mistake was discovered? But he didn't think so. He was almost sure he recognized the voice from somewhere, that this person knew exactly who he'd crushed into his car.

It was almost – almost – a relief when the car slowed, turned, and then slowed even more. It pulled into someplace darker than the outdoors, as he could tell even under the hood and the blanket. There were the sounds of the car turning off, an automatic garage door closing. Then the driver got out, slamming his door behind him, and a moment later opened the passenger door and threw off the blanket.

He grabbed the neck of Cas' Amnesty International T-shirt and one of his arms, and yanked clumsily but with force. Cas' muscles were so cramped he could barely move, but he thrashed, partly trying to stretch, partly in a mindless effort to escape.

The man, with an infuriated heave, dragged Cas out of the car. He landed face-down on concrete, driving the prongs further into his leg. He yelled in pain, loud even when muffled by the tape, and the man slammed his forehead onto the concrete. "Shut up!"

Even with his hands cuffed behind him, Cas managed to roll over. He slammed the heel of one shoe onto the floor, trying to draw attention to the prongs in his leg, and continued to yell.

The prongs were ripped out and he gasped in both pain and relief. "There. Now shut up. And stand," the man said.

Where had he heard that voice before? It was distorted by rage and heavy breathing: obviously someone who wasn't accustomed to moving heavy objects like a pinioned human being. No, he'd heard the man under much calmer circumstances. When?

Between the man's pulling and Cas' own recovering leg muscles, Cas got to his feet. He heard a door open, the warmth and light of July washing over him.

The man grabbed Cas' left arm with his left hand and jammed the Taser into his back. "Walk. If you make any move or any sound, I'll shoot you again."

Cas stumbled forward. Wherever they were, it was populated but not noisy: He could hear a car moving somewhere nearby, but the only other sounds came from birds and insects.

They stopped as the man opened an unlocked door, locked it after they went through, then proceeded indoors, someplace dark and silent. They stopped as Cas' knee touched something that tilted a bit, and the man said, "Turn around and sit down."

Cas did. At least now he might get some answers. But the man said nothing, and all Cas heard was a grating ripping sound – duct tape being pulled off of a roll. Then he felt the man kneeling at his leg, felt pressure on his ankle.

He could not, physically could not, sit still while his ankles were taped to this chair. What he thought he was going to do, shackled and hooded, he didn't consider. He brought his leg up sharply, catching the man's head with the top of his foot, then stomped down hard, with a solid impact.

The man swore, either lunging or being kicked away. Cas jumped up and lunged forward, unable to see, just moving away.

For two steps. The prongs hit him in the back. His ankle turned and he fell backward, hitting a wall and something fabric that caught the prongs and ripped them out of his back. Without the Taser prongs he didn't have that horrible experience of no control, but he slammed to the floor, his breath taken away by pain and shock. The man kicked him over and over, in the back, gut, and face. His head snapped to one side and blood leaped out of his nose.

He didn't resist when the man pulled him off the floor, dropped him into the chair, and taped one ankle to a chair leg. He began pulling off another piece of tape, then paused. Then he stood and pushed Cas forward in the chair, doubling him over, and raised Cas' wrists high behind him. Cas yelled behind his duct-tape gag as pain wrenched his shoulders, his mouth stretched against the tape, and then the man dragged his arms over the back of the chair and let them drop. Cas straightened; it was uncomfortable to have his cuffed arms draped over the back of the chair, but at least it wasn't blinding pain. He could feel tears mixing with the blood on his face as his other ankle was taped.

"Little bastard," the man gasped, out of breath. "Self-important little bastard. What did you think you were going to do? There's no one anywhere around here to help you. The only way you're going to live through this is by doing exactly what I tell you. I am in control here. Do you understand?"

Cas nodded. The man kicked him in the shin.

"Now that we've established that, I'm going to freshen up. You wish you could, don't you?" He felt the man leaning close, heard a long indrawn sniff. "You don't smell nearly as good as you usually do."

He cackled, and there was the sound of footsteps walking out.

He was right. The first time he'd been tased, Cas had lost control in every sense. It barely even bothered him, though. Smell and stickiness were so far down on the list of his physical and mental miseries, they hardly mattered.

"As good as you usually do"? Clearly this man knew him. But the puzzle was taking second place to breathing again. His nose was still bleeding, but the duct tape gag had been a little loosened a little in all the violence. He tried to breathe slowly and deeply through the corner of his mouth where the tape was a little loose.

If he could concentrate, he could probably identify his attacker. But he couldn't. His ability to focus was a strength he'd relied on all his academic life, and it was gone. His brain ran in futile circles: Dear God, please save me. My back hurts. How does he know me? If it is your will, Lord. I'm having a hard time breathing. He hates me, why? I know that voice, it's, it was – I think he broke a rib. Deliver me, Lord, if it is your will. If only I could see. If only I could breathe better.

And the overmastering thought, the one that recurred as he shoved it away: "The only way you're going to live through this . . ." He could die here, never see his family again. He could die here, never see his friends again.

He could die here, and never see Dean again.

He choked off a sob. Crying would make the breathing problem worse.

Actually, thinking about Dean helped. Dean wouldn't be sitting here blubbering. He'd be mad as hell, planning. Sam would be cooler, trying to observe what he could with his ears and his nose and his numbed fingertips, planning.

Just as he'd achieved a certain amount of calm, he heard the man come back into the room. He tensed up, tried to relax again. A bright light went on somewhere in front of him.

The man walked behind Cas and he instinctively flinched. But he was doing something else – maybe with the fabric on that wall he'd fallen into?

Then he walked away from Cas. There were faint sounds a few feet ahead of Cas and to his left. Then the man said with pleasure, "And there it is." A couple of more faint sounds. "Are you wondering what I was doing?"

Cas nodded.

"I just removed the 911 tracking capability from your telephone. It's amazing what you can find out when you know intelligent paranoiacs." A chuckle. "Trust me, the government couldn't possibly care less about him. But because of his paranoia, I can make your phone perfectly safe to use. No one will be able to find you here. And because I put it in airplane mode back at the shopping center, it will seem like you just dropped off the face of the Earth back there."

He had it. He remembered whose voice it was. There was a part of Cas that couldn't believe it, and a part that wondered why he hadn't seen this coming.


	3. Chapter 3

"Now," a very self-satisfied tone, "if I do you the favor of removing the hood and the duct tape, are you going to stay quiet and remember that I'm in control?"

Cas nodded.

When the hood came off he was blinded momentarily by the light, a floor lamp a few feet in front of him. But his eyes recovered as the tape was peeled, then ripped, off of his face.

He grunted, then looked up. The man backed up, looking at Cas, smiling. He was wearing black casual slacks and a dark gray shirt open at the throat; it was the only time Cas had ever seen him without a tie.

"Richard?" Even though he'd known, he still couldn't believe it. "What are you doing?"

The smile hardened to anger. "Don't give me that innocent look. You can't ruin a man's life and then pretend you didn't do it. Well – " something amused him – "I will. But you can't. You don't have the strength."

"Are you – " His mind was racing, and he really didn't want to bring anyone else's name to the attention of this maniac – "Are you talking about – "

There was a moment's silence.

"Say the names," Richard said acidly. "Alan. And David. You turned them against me. They were your tools. You may as well say their names."

Cas swallowed. At least it sounded like Richard wasn't personally angry at them. With luck, they wouldn't be going through this.

"If anyone should be confused, it's me," Richard continued. "What did I do to you? I gave you a job. And I'd have been more than willing to be your mentor. With your interest in spiritual matters, and guidance from me, you could have reached the top in religious publication. At first I thought you were coy, and then I thought you were stupid. It wasn't until later – "

A memory hit Cas hard. He'd been talking to the Human Resources director at Gaillard Publishing, Melinda something, who was giving Cas suggestions about other places he might try when a hard voice with precise diction had come from the open door behind him. "Well, Melinda, let's not be so quick to dismiss someone with a functioning brain who doesn't want to devote his life to website design."

By that time, Cas had turned, and the newcomer had extended his hand. "I'm Richard Chase."

He wasn't particularly tall, and his hairline was receding, but he was slender and energetic, with a compelling smile and eyes that suggested he knew the secrets of the universe and found them pretty damn funny. Cas knew enough about charisma to know that the people who had it in spades usually had some sorrow or strain in their background, but then so do a lot of people.

"You're the founder of Gaillard, aren't you?" Cas had stood, shaking hands. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Chase had tilted his head slightly to one side with a smile, as if to say, Of course it is. "What brings you to our doorstep?"

"I have a master's degree in religious studies from KU, and of course the next step is a doctorate. But I've been thinking that my whole life so far has been devoted to academics, and before – before I – "

"Immerse yourself for life," Chase said, and Cas nodded – "I've been thinking that I should work full-time in the real world."

Chase nodded. Cas continued, "The problem is that I may only do this for six months, and then apply for admission to doctoral programs. I completely understand that there aren't six-month jobs just sitting around waiting to be taken, but I thought I'd come in and just ask about it."

With wry humor in his eyes, Chase had looked over at the HR director. "Well, Melinda, he has brains, a master's degree, he's well spoken, he has initiative. Surely we can find something for him to do for a few months." He'd looked back at Cas. "It would be a paid internship – which, I should tell you, doesn't pay much. But in six months we can re-visit your status. By that time you may have decided to stay with us." He looked back at Melinda, who – Cas now realized – had been looking at the top of her desk and hadn't said a word since Chase had walked in. "You get him started on the paperwork and then send him up to my office. We'll discuss the specifics."

" – destroy me!" Chase was ranting. "And finally I realized that it was your envy. You wanted to be what I am, and you couldn't. Admit it."

Cas came back to the present. Some kind of response was required, and he had to think fast. What he wanted to do was stall for time, drag things out.

"I, I may have been envious," he said softly. "I didn't really think."

"Well, what did you think? When you were having your trysts with Alan in the cafeteria, talking about me, degrading me, why did you think you were doing it?"

He remembered, a couple of the many times he'd had lunch with Alan – listening, trying not to appear judgmental or instructive – looking across the cafeteria to see Chase, tie over his shoulder, eating a salad or a chicken dish delivered from the toniest restaurant in Kansas City that would do delivery. He'd been talking with other executives or sitting by himself, reading something on his laptop. Cas had kept a quiet eye on him as Alan whispered his humiliation, his crushed disappointment, his fear of reprisal, the encouraging words or the threat Chase had given him that day. As far as Cas could tell, Chase had never looked across the room at them, never been aware of them. But obviously he had been.

A slap jerked his head and stung his face. "So why did you want to destroy me? If it wasn't envy?"

"I didn't – I – " Cas was thinking as fast as he could. "I didn't think I was destroying you. I thought I was helping Alan. He was – " Cas met Chase's gaze. "In a way, you broke his heart. He loved you. I think he still does."

And with any luck, that would keep Alan safe. It seemed to calm Chase a bit. He bent to look Cas in the eye. "But you understand that this is the kind of thing that should be worked out by the parties involved. A third party shouldn't force his way in, talking behind my back, telling people to file lawsuits against me."

"Alan didn't file a lawsuit against – "

"David did! You think I don't know he was pouring out his pathetic heart to you too?"

"I never told anyone to file a lawsuit against you."

And that was true. The strongest directive he'd ever given, to either Alan or David, had been, "So, do you think this is the sort of thing that ought to be reported over Melinda's head?" And of course they knew it was, since Melinda was enabling, as fearful of losing her job as they were. But they had to work their way through to that.

A little jingle sounded from the long table. It was Cas' phone.

His breathing sped up as Chase looked over, then went to the table. He looked at Cas, picked up the phone. "You have a text message. From Dean."

He looked at the message. It wrung Cas' heart to have the phone so close, the help so close, and not be able to reach for it.

"'Give us an ETA on pizza.'" Chase smiled. "It's tempting to respond. But since the terrorists kidnapped you," he glanced at the phone, "twenty-two minutes ago, obviously it would be bad for the timeline if you said something rude to Dean." He put the phone down. "And besides, I owe Dean something, so rudeness would be inappropriate."

"Terrorists – um – What do you owe Dean?"

"Well." He folded his arms, leaning against the table, and looked at Cas with rage over his smile. "Since you've made it possible for me to have so much free time recently, I've been making something of a study of you. About two weeks ago, suddenly, you were gone. It's true, I didn't have all the arrangements in place yet, but it was disconcerting. And then a few days ago, there was your Facebook post from Chicago, and someone named Dean responded, 'So on your last day, you get to have some fun?'" Chase couldn't have looked more smug. "So I knew you were coming back the next day. I figured the mechanic would either pick you up at the airport or meet you somewhere to celebrate your return. I just waited outside your apartment building in that – " he looked dour – "elegant rental car until the mechanic came out and drove away. I've been following you ever since."

That was unnerving. But clearly he wanted acknowledgment, so Cas gave it to him. "Smart. But how did you know where I live?"

Chase looked infuriated. "It's my company. I may not have a title, but I have the majority of the stock and people who are still loyal to me."

His secretary. Cas remembered Alan and David both telling him about incidents witnessed by Chase's secretary, things she'd denied later. Once the pressure was on, the two had spiraled into folie a deux, she clutching on to Chase's hand as he sank into the vortex. As far as Cas knew, she was still working there.

And again Cas was brought sharply back to the present as Chase picked up the Taser. He made a production of removing the cartridge. "Don't worry, I'm not going to shoot you again." He held the heavy flashlight-looking object in one hand as he walked over to Cas. "But it has other uses. It's an excellent club."

He smiled at Cas' flinch before he slammed the Taser into Cas' face.

It was a stunning blow, snapping his head to one side. A corner on the notched metal ring cut his face. Just as he was feeling the pain from that, Chase back-handed him with the Taser, smashing it into his mouth. His head jerked helplessly the other way, and he tasted blood before he felt pain. The Taser struck next to his eye. White lights flashed in his vision as he gasped in pain. Then another cutting blow to his other cheek. He dropped his chin to his chest, desperately trying to evade, and yelled without realizing, "Stop it! Stop!"

And Chase did, stepping back to observe Cas, breathing heavily as he shifted the Taser to his left hand and stretched out the fingers of his right. "Well. That was every bit as satisfactory as I thought it would be."

He put the Taser down, pried Cas' head up from his chest, and turned Cas' head roughly left and right before dropping it. "Perfect."

Cas didn't want to open his eyes, but he heard Chase pouring himself a drink and a change in his voice's location that meant he'd sat down. "Now we wait for, I think, half an hour."

He didn't want to respond, but he really should keep Chase talking. "For what?" he asked in a muffled voice.

"For your injuries to swell. For blood to run all over your face. For you to look as bad as possible. Then you're going to make a video."

Cas just wanted to pass out, somehow escape the heavy mass of pain that was his head, but he dredged up the energy to say, "Video?"

"Yes. You're going to read something. I have it all written out for you. And – Now I'll repeat these instructions later, but it's good to make them clear several times. Especially since you don't seem to be well focused at the moment. I will show you a series of cards. You will read exactly what is on the cards. You will read every word, eliminating nothing, adding nothing. Trying anything clever won't help you. I'll simply stop recording and hit you some more, and we will continue that cycle until you read the cards correctly. Only then will I send the video."

"To whom?"

A pause. "Well, why don't I just show them to you."

He picked up and turned the pieces of poster board leaning against the table leg. Cas blinked hard; one eye's vision was obscured by swelling.

He read the cards silently, Chase laying them aside at a speed he chose. At the fourth card, Cas' lips parted and his good eye opened wide.

He looked up at Chase. "You're sending this to – "

"Mommy and Daddy, obviously. As soon as I saw your mother's name on a Facebook post, I began doing research. They're very well off."

Cas shook his head, staring at the cards. "Not that well off."

"They'd better be."

Cas squeezed his eyes shut, thinking.

Then he opened them and blinked several times.

"Keep reading," Chase ordered, and Cas did.

When Chase laid aside the last card, he said, "Is that all clear?"

Cas blinked several times, looking up at him. "No one will believe it."

"It's your job to make them believe it. If they don't believe it, you'll die. Let that be some motivation."

Cas gave a deep sigh, blinking his eyes.

"Why do you keep blinking like that?" Chase sounded annoyed.

"My eye is irritated."

"That's too bad." A pause, then "Would it help if I turned the lamp so that it wasn't so directly in your eyes?"

Cas blinked three times. "It might."

Chase moved over to the long table and turned on the table lamp, shifting it to shine directly into Cas' face. Cas closed his eyes and dropped his head.

Cas' ring tone sounded. Chase touched the face of the phone, then chuckled. "Dean really wants his pizza."

Cas sighed heavily.

.

"Something's wrong," Dean said.

Jess, carrying a freshly cleaned decorative mirror, paused on the bottom step. "Are we sure he doesn't just have his phone turned off?"

Dean nodded. "The message goes through. He's just not picking up."

"Well – maybe his phone's just messed up. He was going to the store and to Guillermo's, it's only been an hour – "

"Hour twenty," Dean said, and they both heard the back door open and close in the kitchen. Dean's face fell when Sam walked into the front hall from the kitchen, but Sam didn't seem to take it personally. "I didn't want to freak anyone out, so I went out back. I called Lawrence Memorial and the KU Student Health Center. He's not in either of them. So that's good."

Dean shook his head. "Something's wrong. I know it."

"Well," Sam said. "Let's go to Guillermo's see if we can find his car."

"Good idea," Jess said. "When we find him we'll tell him his phone's a piece of junk, then we'll all sit down at Guillermo's and just have lunch there."

Dean headed for the back door without a word. Sam and Jess exchanged a glance as they followed him.

.

Chase put down Cas' phone carefully – he needed it – picked up the Taser and slammed it down on the edge of the collapsible table, which jumped and rattled. "'Message Not Received.' Again." He walked over to stand in front of Cas. "I know 'Mom' and 'Dad' both have phones. They're in your contacts list. I've sent this video – tried to send it several times. It doesn't go through to either of them. Where are they, you little bastard?"

He'd played for time as long as he could. Any further delay would enrage Chase further, bringing the Taser down on his head again. He couldn't keep his eyes off of the hand holding it. "They're at a spiritual retreat."

A momentary look of confusion. "Even if they have their phones turned off –"

"In Nepal."

.

Dean hurried across the parking lot, his grim face telling Sam and Jess the news before he reached Cas' car, by which they were standing. "Not in Guillermo's or any of those stores."

"Not in the grocery store," Jess said. "We split up and checked everywhere."

"All right," Sam said. "We know his car is here. He's not in any of the stores and he's not in the car."

Dean gave a little grunt, reached into the unlocked car, and popped the trunk. Before he could straighten up, Sam was at the back of the car. "OK. Nothing in here."

"Is it too soon to call the police?" Jess asked. "They'll probably say he just decided to walk somewhere – "

"And not answer his phone," Dean said tightly, watching as Sam dropped to the ground.

"Something behind the tire," Sam said. "I think it might be Cas' keys."

His long arm began to reach under the car.

"Sam, stop," Dean said suddenly. "Crime scene."

Sam pulled his hand back and sat on his haunches. He looked up at Dean and then back down to the ground, where Dean was pointing.

The ground in front of Cas' car was littered with tiny colorful ovals of paper. Even standing, you could see that something was printed in minuscule type on each of them.

"What are those?" Jess asked.

.

Chase turned back toward the table, ignoring the sounds Cas was making. He was gasping and spluttering, trying to recuperate from vomiting after Chase had driven the Taser's end into his gut.

"I am not going to wait two days for my money," Chase snarled. He threw down the Taser and snatched up Cas' phone, reading over recent messages. "Dean seems very concerned about you. What do you think? Is he concerned enough to do whatever it takes to reach your parents?"

"Please," Cas whispered. "Dean gets so scared."

"Then he's perfect," Chase said, his fingers moving on Cas' phone.

Cas dropped his head to hide the smile tugging at the uninjured corner of his mouth.

.

"They're AFIDs," Dean said. "They blow out of a Taser when it's shot. It helps the cops to track the cartridge."

"Not good," Sam said. "But this could be from something that happened a couple days ago."

"No," Jess said. She was pointing at the windshield, and both men moved closer.

Two tiny paper ovals clung to the windshield of Cas' car, hidden behind the windshield wiper. "I noticed those before. I just didn't know what they were."

"OK," Sam said. "Now we call the cops."

Looking numb, his gaze fixed on the windshield, Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket.

The ringtone went off in his hand.

Dean sucked in a breath, looking baffled. "Cas. It's a video."

Sam and Jess moved over as Dean opened the video message. Then Dean grunted as though from a gut punch.

Obviously bound, Cas sat in a chair. One of his eyes was swollen half-shut. Blood running from his nose and one corner of his mouth had dried on his face, which was marked with reddish-purple bruises. And he was sitting in front of a banner, the black ground and white symbols of the ISIS flag.

Cas blinked three times, sighed deeply, cleared his throat, and spoke. He was obviously reading from an off-camera script.

"My name Cas Novak. This message is sent by the justice of Allah to my father, and to all apostates who have worshiped the idols of money and property.

"Those without obedience to Allah do not deserve wealth. Those without obedience to Allah care less for their children than for their wealth." He gave a long broken sigh. "You may have a chance to prove your obedience by exchanging your wealth for your child."

"You will gather – " He closed his eyes for a moment, turning his head away from the lights and sighing, then looked forward again determinedly – "two million dollars in unmarked twenty-dollar bills, placing it in banker's boxes. There will be no dye packs or other traps. You will have no communication with the crusader forces of local or national police. If you shirk any of these duties," he blinked rapidly and then spoke the threat rapidly, "my blood will be on your hands.

"I will call you again in four hours with further instructions. You will provide, through Allah's bounty and justice, ghanimah to support the blessed events unfolding across the world, or – " He choked a little, blinked, sighed – "I will be slaughtered, as have so many apostates and crusaders." He blinked five times, and this time it didn't look so much as if his eyes were irritated as that he was trying to keep from crying. "The choice is yours. Allahu Akbar."

He gave a long sigh, dropping his head, and the screen went black.

"Oh my God," Jess whispered.

"Why did he send it – " Sam broke off in the middle of his own question. "Nepal. His parents are in the freaking Himalayas incommunicado. At some point Cas told them that, and they – they got him to tell them who'd be the next best person."

"ISIS?" Jess said. "That's crazy."

"OK." Sam gave his head a little shake. "We've gotta snap out of it. Dean?"

Dean was looking straight ahead.

"I'm going to call the cops, OK?"

Dean nodded, and Sam moved a few steps away.

Dean began stabbing buttons on his phone. "Dean?" Jess said.

"Replying."

"Should you?"

Dean looked up at her. "Yeah. Might trigger something. You're right. Let the police decide."

Jess touched his arm. "It'll be OK. We'll get him back."

Dean looked at her as though he didn't see her.

"We'll get him back," she repeated firmly.

A couple of minutes later, Sam walked back over to them. "OK, I'm still not sure they don't think it's a prank, but Lawrence PD is sending a car."

Dean nodded. Then he started walking toward the Impala.

"Wait." Sam moved in front of him. "What can you do that the cops can't?"

Dean stopped. "I don't know. But I'm not – I can't stand here waiting, and then sit in a police station explaining that Cas wouldn't fake his own kidnapping to get money out of his parents, and explaining that the two of us aren't having any problems and he's just trying to get my attention, and for sure that I didn't set it up, and – " He shook his head. "No. I'm going to do something."

"What?"

"Well, for one thing I'm going to study the hell out of that video, see if I can pick up any clues about where he is."

"Estimate how far away he could be," Sam said, looking at the time on his phone. "He left the house a few minutes after noon, it's 1:43 now. Deduct time for driving here, estimated time for recording the video and, and other stuff – "

"Beating the hell out of him," Dean said quietly.

Sam nodded. "Deduct that from the total time, get estimated travel time. Get a map and draw a circle."

"Like that," Dean said, and started walking toward the Impala again.

"Wait, stop," Jess said. "The kidnappers are going to call again in four hours. The police will need your phone."

"I need to study – " Dean nodded. "You're right. I'm going to send the video to Sam, and then we'll exchange phones."

"Send it to both of us," Jess said.

As he did so, Jess looked at Sam intently, and he looked back at her with a slight pucker between his eyebrows.

There was a little jingle from both of their phones indicating that the video had arrived.

"OK," Jess said. "Both of you, give me your phones. I'll give you mine. So the police will have Dean's phone, I'll have Sam's, and you'll have mine. Sam, you go with Dean."

A flash of a smile crossed Sam's face and was quashed. "Jess, are you sure?"

She nodded. "Hopefully it'll be a while before they get ticked off enough at you guys to track Sam's phone, and a while after that before they realize I've got it. That'll buy you some time."

"They're gonna be asking you all kinds of questions," Dean said, "why did we go, what's Cas' background, what – "

"After you saw the video," Jess replied, "you freaked out and jumped in the car. Sam went with you to keep you from doing anything crazy. I know a lot about Cas, and I have Rachel's number. She'll be able to tell them anything about her brother, and she'll be able to reach the other brothers and Anna." She smiled quickly. "They'll have more background on Cas than they'll ever need. Mr. and Mrs. Novak – the cops will be able to contact whatever agency or embassy or whatever a lot faster than any of us would anyway."

"All the same, we're dumping a lot on you," Sam said.

"It's OK. You guys – Look, I believe in the police as the first line of defense, I do. But you guys are such a great team. I mean, if you _could_ have the first string and the second string on the field at the same time, why wouldn't you?"

Sam kissed her. Dean gave her a quick nod. "Thanks, Jess. I owe you one. I mean that."

She held out her hand. "Phones."

They gave her their phones; she handed hers to Sam. "Go with God."

The Impala was pulling out of one entrance to the parking lot as a Lawrence police car pulled into the other.


	4. Chapter 4

_The excerpt from "Suffering" is from_ _Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison_ _. English edition edited by John W. de Gruchy; translated by Isabel Best, Lisa E. Dahill, Reinhard Krauss, and Nancy Lukens. Copyright 2009, Augsburg Fortress._

.

"My place," Sam said quickly as they drove down 23rd Street. "We need my tablet, an atlas to draw the circle on – "

"Weapons."

Sam shot him a look that inquired, Are you nuts? "From what? Our armory?"

"Knives. Rope. You got a baseball bat?"

Sam nodded. After a moment he said, "You think it really is Muslim terrorists?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't, I don't know, Sam. I'm not thinking straight. I've got to get my head in the game, right now it's all adrenaline."

Sam leaned back. "I mean, anything's possible. But when was the last time you heard of jihadists kidnapping for ransom? They want to terrorize huge groups of people. They kidnap someone and demand two million dollars, everyone's gonna say, 'Well, my kids are safe, I haven't got anything like that.' They want to make everyone feel unsafe, not just rich people."

"And why Cas?" Dean said. "Kansas City's 45 minutes away. You've got professional athletes there, owners of national banks, owners of big financial companies. Why the Novaks from Garden City?"

"Less security?" Sam's fingers were moving on the phone.

"What are you looking up?"

"Anything that might have come out recently about jihadists in this area, homegrown terrorists, stuff like that."

He'd found nothing useful by the time Dean had reached Sam's and Jess's apartment. Dean parked the car around the corner; they jumped out and barreled across the parking lot.

Once in the apartment, by pre-arrangement, Sam grabbed a road atlas and sat down at a table with a pencil, paper, and compass. He began making notes while Dean ransacked the apartment for knives and Sam's baseball bat, then sat down, drew a deep breath, and opened the video on Jess' phone.

For a while Sam shifted over to his tablet, shook his head, went back to his notes.

"What the hell is 'ghanimah'?" Dean asked.

Sam looked up. "Like – spoils of war."

Dean nodded, and they both re-focused, Sam making marks on the map.

Dean's eyes got wider as he watched the video again.

Sam shook his head. "This is going to be a huge area. If we had more of an idea – "

"Shut up a minute," Dean said.

Sam looked over, saw Dean's expression, moved over to stand beside Dean's chair, looking at Jess' phone. "What are you seeing?"

Dean crashed a fist onto the table. "Yes! I got it! I got it, Cas! You did it!"

"Show me," Sam said urgently.

Dean calmed for a moment. "OK. Tell me if I'm crazy."

He started showing the video from the beginning; Cas blinked three times, sighed and cleared his throat.

Dean stopped it. "OK. Count the blinks."

Sam blinked himself. "Uh – three?"

"Like they were letters."

Sam caught on, just a flick of a smile. "ABC."

"OK. When he sighs, start over again."

Sam grabbed the pencil and paper, wrote "C," and began saying the alphabet out loud when Cas continued. ". . . to my father, and to all – "

"ABCD."

" – apostates who have worshiped the idols of money and property."

"EF."

"Those without obedience to Allah do not deserve wealth."

"GH."

". . . care less for their children than their wealth." A long, broken sigh. "You may have . . ."

"H?" Sam said. Dean nodded, and Sam wrote an H next to the C.

". . . You will gather – " He closed his eyes for a moment, turning his head away from the lights and sighing.

"A," Sam and Dean said at once.

". . . no dye packs or other traps."

"ABCD."

". . .If you shirk any of these duties . . ."

"EFGH. I."

". . .You will provide . . . "

"JK. L. MN."

". . . blessed events unfolding across the world, or . . . "

"OP. QRS," Sam said, and wrote "S" as Cas sighed and continued, "I will be slaughtered, as have so many apostates and crusaders. The choice is yours."

He blinked five times, and this time it didn't look so much as if his eyes were irritated as that he was trying to keep from crying. "ABCDE."

"Allahu Akbar," Cas said, and gave a long sigh, dropping his head.

Sam looked from the paper to Dean. "Chase?"

"The son of a bitch who owns Gaillard Publishing. The guy who was doing all the sexual harassing."

"You think he knows – "

"Cas' name wasn't in any media coverage, but I bet if you were right in the middle of the situation you knew exactly who victims were talking to. Alan. And that other guy – David. Don't know their last names. Cops should check on them, see if they're OK."

"And he's getting sued, too, isn't he? Having a secret stash of two million would come in real handy for that."

"Or for getting out of the country."

"OK," Sam said. "This makes a hell of a lot more sense than ISIS invading Lawrence, Kansas to kidnap one guy. The police need to know this."

"And we need to get out of here. I keep expecting them to knock on the door any minute. But even if calling them brings 'em straight here – "

"Let's try our woman on the inside first," Sam said, picking up the phone.

Jess was sitting in an office staring at a table on which Dean's phone was sitting, hooked up to a couple of wires. Two men in suits stood across the room talking in low voices, and a uniformed officer stood near the door.

When she felt the low purr against her leg, she was glad that she'd put Sam's phone on vibrate. She asked where the restroom was; luckily, no one was in there. "Hello?"

"Jess? Do you have a couple of minutes?"

"I think so. Have you got something?"

"Yes. You're going to the police and tell them this is something you just noticed, so be sure to watch that video first, the ransom demand. I'll tell you what you're looking for."

He told her about Cas' blinking and sighing stratagem. By the time he'd finished, Jess' jaw was hanging open.

"That's unbelievable. Oh, my God. I told the police that he worked at Gaillard for half a year and that he knew a couple of the victims, but I forgot everything Dean said the other night. My brain's been scattered."

"Well, now you can tell them how brilliant you are for noticing this thing."

"Dean's the brilliant one."

"Yeah, none of us is as brilliant as Cas," Sam said. "Tell the cops you're worried about Alan and David, the first two guys who reported Chase. They'll be able to find out the last names and check on 'em. If you get a chance to let us know how they react, do."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

Jess disconnected, switched to email, and watched the video with the sound off, shaking her head in amazement.

There was a thud, and Sam looked around. Dean had just emptied the contents of Sam's capacious faux-leather file bag onto the table. "Seriously?"

"This is the only thing that'll hold everything," Dean said, ruthlessly bending the road atlas to stuff it in. He threw in Sam's notes and more blank paper, a pen, the knives, and a bag of corn chips.

"You really think we still need to stay under the radar? Even without Cas' video, once they hear about Chase having a good reason to hate Cas – "

" – they'll immediately realize that a rich guy with a national reputation went out and kidnapped Cas for ransom money to pay off his lawsuits?"

Sam looked rueful. "Well, they might – Where does Chase live, anyway?"

"Kansas City, where the publishing company is."

"Great."

"And even once they get to Chase's house, you think he'll be sitting there in his living room with Cas and an ISIS flag?"

Without answering in words, Sam scooped up his tablet and shouldered the file bag.

"We've still got work to do," Dean said, and picked up the baseball bat as they left.

.

"It'll be fun," Dean said with that irresistible smile.

"I can't," Cas said, looking at a desk piled with papers and books in disorder. "I have to rewrite my whole master's thesis."

"Your mom and dad are there, Rachel, Sam, everyone. Come on."

Cas tried to stand up but couldn't. "I can't move."

"It'll be all right," Dean said, and vanished.

Cas tried to stand again and felt searing pain in his shoulders and back. It slashed him into consciousness, the dark room with lights in his eyes, sticky sweat and blood, thirst, confinement. "Your hands, strong and active, are fettered." Where had he read that?

Chase was sitting by the long table, a book in his lap, but he was looking at Cas. "That was almost a yell. Do I need to put the tape back on your mouth?"

Cas shook his head.

Chase had a big clear pitcher of ice water on the table, and poured some into a glass. Cas tried not to look at it. "Are you thirsty?"

All right, give him what he wanted. "Yes."

"Ah," Chase said, and drank deeply from the glass.

Cas was trying to think of something to say. He'd heard that one way to stay alive in a captive situation was to tell the captor about yourself, make him see you as a human being with whom he might identify. But he had the feeling that that was for situations where the captor didn't know you to begin with. Chase knew Cas, blamed Cas for the wreck he'd made of his own life, wanted to see Cas suffer. He doubted if he could reach Chase on a level of human empathy.

But Chase was smart. Maybe Cas could reach him on an intellectual level.

He raised his gaze to meet the other man's. "You don't have to do this."

"But I'm enjoying it."

"In the long run, though, you know this won't end well for you. I know you're only thinking how bad it is for me. But you're smart enough to think a little into the future. They're probably investigating me already, my background. I don't think the police are going to be fooled by an ISIS flag and a, a ransom note full of jihadist babble."

With care, Chase put the glass down. "You have more faith in the intelligence of the police than I do."

"Don't underestimate them. I know a police detective, he's very smart."

"Is he going to be investigating your disappearance?"

"No, but – "

"Then I'm not very concerned."

Cas drew a breath. "They'll be investigating me, anyone who has a grudge against me. You're really the only one."

"Really? You haven't used your sense of superiority to attack anyone else? No wounded ex-lovers out there?"

"No one who –"

"And besides, why wouldn't they believe it? You've seen the kinds of things that the followers of Mohammed have done here. Why wouldn't they drain your parents' money and send it overseas to fund more slaughter there?"

That startled Cas a little. "So – it's more than a – convenient ruse. You really hate them."

Chase looked at him with, if possible, even deeper contempt. "This is a war that's been going on for a long time. I didn't lay down the ground rules, they did: Us or them. Civilization is in danger because people like you refuse to take up the mantle of the Crusaders."

Cas kept his face straight and thought fast. "Well – you do, you make a good point. But even if – Your convincing me doesn't really help." He shifted a little against his constraints. "I couldn't take up anyone's mantle like this."

"It's a little late for you to change your mind anyway," Chase said, and his tone implied that he knew damn well Cas was trying to play him. "But don't worry. As a sympathetic victim, you'll be striking a blow for civilization."

He picked up the length of black cord and focused on it, smiling, as he tied a loose loop and then pulled the loop tighter and tighter.

Cas looked away, flooded with terror.

He'd been trying not to think about being killed. In a corner of his mind, of course, he'd known. There was a reason why Chase was so relaxed about Cas knowing his identity. There was a reason why the floor was covered with plastic. But to see the actual instrument of his death dangled in front of him terrified him to the point of nausea.

Strangulation would be a horrible way to die.

And there wasn't a thing he could do about it. Even if his hands were miraculously freed, his arms were numb from shoulders to fingertips.

"Your hands, strong and active, are fettered." Where had that come from?

And then – of course. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the subject of his master's thesis, the man Cas most wanted to be like.

He'd always been awestruck – who wouldn't be – by the patience Bonhoeffer had shown during his imprisonment by the Nazis, how prolific his work had been even as his trial date was shifted and his fate was knocked around like a piñata at the hands of psychopathic children. Above all, he'd been humbled by the strength of Bonhoeffer's faith, his acceptance that all served God's purpose in the long run. That was why he'd read Bonhoeffer's poem "Suffering" so often that he'd memorized it.

"Powerless, alone, you see that an end is put to your action,

"Yet now you breathe a sigh of relief and lay what is righteous

"calmly and fearlessly into a mightier hand, contented."

He'd always wondered if, in those circumstances, he'd have had Bonhoeffer's depth of faith.

And now he knew. He didn't.

He was enraged and terrified. It wasn't even like he was going to be hanged because of his resistance to a genocidal tyrant, as Bonhoeffer had been. He was going to be strangled because he'd disrupted an asshole's sex life.

He sighed and dropped his head, addressing God directly: No! I am not Bonhoeffer, nor was meant to be.

And even so, Lord, I believe. I'm having a hard time with having faith, I'm angry and scared, I feel like you don't care about me.

And even so, damn it, I believe.

Please give me more faith. Whatever happens, I need more faith to meet it with. Lend me some of Bonhoeffer's faith, Lord. I need it. I need it badly.

.

After driving around for 15 minutes Dean found exactly what he wanted, a parking space deep inside a downtown parking garage, even on a sunny Friday afternoon. Dean figured that meant God was on their side. He backed the huge car between two other cars, causing Sam to look up from his tablet for a moment's anxiety, then turned the engine off.

"Here we go," he said, "one of a zillion cars, license plate not showing. What do you want – Never mind."

Jess' phone was ringing. "Hello."

"Dean, it's Rachel."

"Rachel," he said. Sam took out one of his earbuds and looked over, and Dean put the phone on speaker.

"Dean, I'm so scared." Her voice, normally so self-assured, was whispery and brittle.

"We all are. But we're gonna get Cas back. Don't doubt it for a minute."

"I'm so – Jess told me you guys are out there working on it. I'm so grateful. It makes me feel so much better."

"How is Jess?" Sam asked.

"She's fine. She's thinking of everything she can to tell the police about Castiel, and I am too."

"So you're in town?" Dean asked.

"I broke every speed limit between Kansas City and Lawrence when the police called. When they – When Cas calls back, I'm going to get the instructions, the ransom instructions."

"It couldn't be in better hands," Dean said. "You're at the police station now?"

"Yes, me and Jess, hanging on to each other."

"How about your parents?"

"The police are contacting government people to get through to them. Mom told us, you know, she told us it would practically be impossible to get ahold of them. I said, 'For God's sake, mom, I'm the youngest of your kids and I'm a college graduate. I think you can be out of pocket for two days.'" She gave a little broken laugh.

"Are they going after Chase?"

"I really don't know, Dean. They're not giving us details on their investigation. I know there was a security camera in the parking lot where the kidnapping happened, they showed us the video to see if anything looked familiar. But it was at a bad angle, none of us could tell much of anything."

Dean took a deep breath, shaking his head.

"One thing, though, not really great, but you should probably know. They're pretty concerned that you guys disappeared before they could talk to you. Jess told me she heard the term 'persons of interest' being bandied around."

"Great," Sam said.

"That's why I'm calling you. Jess was afraid they'd catch on if she went running off to the bathroom too often."

"So you're in the bathroom now?" Sam said with a bit of a smile.

"No, I'm standing outside, calling a friend for moral support. Which, you know, is actually the truth."

"How about the rest of your family?"

"The police are trying to get hold of Michael – we haven't been told where he's deployed. Raphael's coming in from Atlanta, Anna's coming from Austin. Gabe isn't picking up his phone."

"OK, well, by the time he gets around to looking at his messages Cas'll be safe anyway," Dean said. "Tell the cops we'll be in to talk to them as soon as we rescue Cas."

A slight, broken chuckle. "Yeah, I don't think I will. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"If there is, we'll call. You hang in there, Rachel. And tell Jess to hang in too."

"I will. OK." She seemed reluctant for a moment to disconnect. "OK. 'Bye."

Dean disconnected and looked at Sam. "Tell me we've got something."


	5. Chapter 5

_The excerpt from "Prayers for Prisoners" is from_ _Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison_ _. English edition edited by John W. de Gruchy; translated by Isabel Best, Lisa E. Dahill, Reinhard Krauss, and Nancy Lukens. Copyright 2009, Augsburg Fortress._

.

"I'm just trying to get a handle on the guy," Sam said. "This Book TV interview is kind of interesting. He's wearing a tie with the three lions from the British royal coat of arms and talking in this over-educated way. I think he's trying to persuade everyone he's English when he's not. The main interesting thing is, at one point he talks about owning his own company and how important it is to maintain control. Control in 'all aspects of life' – self-discipline – "

Dean snorted. Sam said, "Yeah. But also control of your environment, your career. It makes me think he hasn't got Cas, like, in an empty warehouse or a friend's basement or something. He's got Cas someplace that he owns."

"But not his house."

"Not the house everyone knows about, anyway."

"Man," Dean said, "we could find out what else he owns in thirty seconds if we were the cops."

"And that's probably a line they're pursuing. But of course, it might not be under his name."

"An alias?"

"Or an LLC, a limited liability company."

Dean shook his head. "Crap. You can hide pretty much anything with that, can't you?"

"Well, sort of. You have to have a registered agent so the state can contact the company if it needs to, and the registered agent has to be in that state and have an actual street address, not just a PO box. But there are companies who do that professionally, act as a registered agent for, you know, a guy in Nebraska who's growing his business into Iowa or whatever. But I've got to believe those companies are going to want a name and a real address too. They're not going to want someone to show up with a summons for the owner of an LLC and have to say, Gee, we only have a PO box for the guy."

"So what you're saying – Give me the atlas."

Sam pulled the poor doubled-up atlas from the bag at his feet and opened it to the page where he'd drawn a circle showing the kidnapper's estimated travel time from the shopping center. "We think he has Cas somewhere in here," Dean continued, "in these – " he swore – "eight counties, in a house or a store owned by Chase, either under his own name or an alias or an LLC."

"Yeah. But. One good thing, you'll notice that circle barely even grazes Missouri. And I deliberately drew it to allow as much driving time as possible, so I think the chances are good that Cas is in Kansas, and maybe a lot closer to Lawrence than that circle would imply. Hang on a second, I need to organize my thoughts."

Sam tipped his head back and went silent, his eyes moving slowly as if he were reading the roof of the car. Dean's normal energy seemed to have deserted him. He clutched the Impala's steering wheel with one hand, staring sightlessly through the windshield.

"All right," Sam said. "First: We need to find the companies in Kansas that act as registered agents, call them, find out if there's a way they can tell us who the owners of LLCs are."

Dean nodded. "I'll do that."

"Second, we need to find out how we can find properties by owner's name. I think it's pretty easy to look up an owner if you know the address, but we need to find out if we can do the opposite. Check to see if anything is owned by Chase under his own name, although it won't be. That we'll have to do county by county."

"Crap."

"Third, if we can find out how to find a property address by owner's name, we have to figure out what name Chase would be using for an LLC, and hope he didn't just pick it randomly. For that we need to do a deep dive on Chase's mind, what he'd want to call himself or present himself as."

Dean nodded, a muscle in his jaw flickering.

"I know. You want to bust heads. I do too. But we've got to do the research first."

Dean looked over at him. "Actually, I don't care that much about busting heads. I really don't. That asshole could run off to Russia and live happily ever after, as far as I'm concerned. All I want – all I want – is to get Cas back alive. That's all."

There were tears in his eyes.

Sam nodded, his own jaw tightening. "We will."

.

Cas wondered how much time had passed. At four hours there would be another ransom call. Would Chase use his own voice for that?

He was hot, thirsty, ill, in pain. In a way he wanted the four hours to pass so that something would happen besides his sitting here in misery; he'd give anything to be able to lie down. But in a way, he knew that the more he could drag things out, the better the chances that he'd be found. Found alive.

He wondered if he should tell Chase about the message he'd sent by blinking his eyes. If Chase knew that the police knew his name, he might not want to risk a murder charge. On the other hand, he might decide to kill Cas immediately so he could be cleaned up and establishing an alibi by the time Cas was found.

He pushed away the thought that it didn't matter, the chances of his message having been understood were minuscule.

He decided to wait until the last moment. If he saw Chase heading toward him with that cord, then Cas would tell him about the message. It might delay him. It might.

If Chase still tried to put the cord around his neck, he'd duck his head, smash his chin against his chest. Of course, Chase might just tase him and kill him while he was helpless.

He was praying, not very coherently, when a sound made him look up. Chase had picked up Cas' phone and was looking through it, chuckling with amusement.

Who cared. If Chase found amusement in scrolling through an endless succession of "Be there in 5 min" and "Chinese tonight?", it didn't bother Cas.

Chase put down the phone, smiled at Cas, and stood. Cas flinched.

"So Dean's the mechanic, am I right? The one you live with? He seems like quite a stallion." He moved over to Cas and cupped Cas' chin, moving a thumb along his lower lip. "No wonder you let him use that pretty mouth."

He pressed his thumb hard into the wounded side of Cas' mouth. His closeness and intimate tone were stomach-turning, and Cas didn't know whether it would be worse to meet Chase's gaze or avoid it.

Then a startled realization made him meet Chase's gaze after all, and Chase looked a little startled in turn. "Did you hire me – "

He stopped, and Chase's smile broadened. Cas felt like an idiot that this hadn't occurred to him before, and hadn't realized how embarrassing it would be to say it out loud. " – because you thought I was good looking?"

Chase took a step back, and Cas knew he was trying to decide how to say this most hurtfully.

"No," Chase said. "We give out paid internships like candy. With editors who have years of experience all over the country applying to us for jobs, I hired you because you were so well qualified."

Of course. He should have known. At least he should have known that Chase hadn't seen any real promise in him. But if that was the only reason – "But you never – "

There was no way he could finish that, and Chase looked at him with disgust. "What? Bent you over a desk, like the animal you say I am? Please. I have my standards. You're easy on the eyes – " he scanned Cas' face – "well, you were – and I knew you'd be gone in six months. That's all."

He went back to his chair, took another deep drink of water, and reopened his book.

For a moment Cas reeled mentally at the truth of it. He had been unqualified, not nearly as bright as most of the people working at Gaillard. It was humiliating when he remembered himself walking cold into the company's reception area, saying he wanted to talk to Personnel about a limited-time job, smiling and babbling about his academic credentials as if they mattered a damn.

"I used to think I was pretty smart," Alan had said at one lunch. "Then I started working with a genuinely brilliant person and I realized, I'm really not very smart at all. I wouldn't have a future anywhere else. Maybe standing behind a cash register somewhere."

And Cas had tried to tell him, no, he was mistaken, and now Cas realized –

His eyes widened.

Oh, he realized, all right. He _had_ been right. Alan was smarter than that. Cas was worth more than that. And Richard Chase was full of crap.

One thing Cas had known about Alan and David – and was probably true about all of the employees Chase had used: They had very low self-confidence. Even David, who seemed proud to the point of boastful, revealed fathoms-deep self-contempt when you talked to him for a while. Chase probably could spot that quality, hired them for it, chiming in with the voices in their heads that told them they were worth nothing without Chase, keeping them trapped under his thumb as effectively as he'd trapped Cas.

He knew exactly why Chase had selected him. He was quiet. A lot of bullies mistake quiet for weakness, like the eighth-grader who'd said that Cas could either do the bully's algebra homework or face a beatdown. It had cost Cas a black eye, but it cost the bully one also, and Cas hadn't been bothered again.

So, yes, he remembered Chase talking to him about his future – as though he cared! – and instead of revealing insecurity, Cas had talked about the choices in which he was interested and the plans he'd make for achieving each. He remembered wondering at one point if Chase had some interest in him, but he deflected it politely and later thought he'd misinterpreted. And Chase had realized that, first impressions aside, Cas wouldn't be easy prey, and had thereafter almost ignored him. Alan, on the other hand, had focused on Cas with a weird combination of resentment and sorrow, to the point where Cas got curious about it and deliberately put his lunch tray down in front of Alan's one day.

How ironic was it that he'd just decided on a whim to see if there was an opening at a publishing house for him, that Chase had happened to pass by Human Resources when Cas was there, that he'd thought Cas was insecure enough –

It struck him so hard that his head jerked up. Chase looked at him warily, went back to his book.

Of course it wasn't ironic. Cas was supposed to do this. He hadn't stumbled on the situation at Gaillard; he'd been put there.

He was interested in books. He was good looking enough to attract Chase's interest, quiet enough that Chase thought he was vulnerable and would hire him. But he was actually self-confident, and not so desperate for a career in publishing that he'd be easily intimidated. He was someone in whom people tended to confide, someone that people like Alan and David trusted with their secrets.

It crossed his mind to resent the fact that he'd been chosen for a task that ended with a madman on the verge of strangling him, but he was so astonished that resentment wouldn't even stay in his mind. In the past, he'd been involved in projects that he'd hoped might be pleasing to God because they'd helped other people. He'd never had the sense of being chosen individually, and it was overwhelming.

All right, he thought. I still don't understand and I still don't want to die, but I'm willing to put this in your hands. If I die, I ask that you console my family. And take good care of Dean, he'll be devastated. As for me –

A couple of sentences were laid into his mind. They were from Bonhoeffer's "Prayers for Prisoners," the "Prayer in Particular Need":

"Do with me

"As pleases you and as is good for me.

"Whether I live or die,

"I am with you and you are with me, my God."

He repeated it silently over and over.

.

"It's like trying to get a hold of vapor," Dean said. They were still sitting in the car, Sam on his tablet and Dean on Jess' phone. "The registered-agent companies practically laugh in my face when I ask how we can find out who their clients are, and the Gaillard website has nothing about Chase. I mean, nothing. It's like the guy never existed. I didn't realize that they have a bunch of specialized companies. Gaillard, I guess, publishes just general history, but there's a Three Lions Press that does just military history and an Alys Press that puts out historical romances and an RI Press for 'works of specialized interest,' whatever that means."

"The Wikipedia page is really sanitized. Chase must have a friend out there somewhere. There's nothing about the scandal. All it says is that 'Chase has resigned as president of Gaillard Publishing Inc., but retains a majority share of stock in the company.'"

"He does?" Dean looked baffled. "Then what the hell would he be so upset about?"

"Well, he was exposed, his pathetic sex life was splattered all over the _Star_ and the internet. There are lawsuits filed against him and the company already, of course, and probably more to come. Some of the directors resigned, and good luck getting good people to replace them. And there was a big boycott-Gaillard movement in Kansas City that was spreading. My guess is, some good corporate lawyer sat Chase down – "

"Someone like my brother," Dean said.

Sam rolled his eyes. "With luck, I'll never have a client like that. But yeah, someone like maybe me eventually, sat Chase down and said, 'Look, the company is cratering because you're still here. You're still the majority shareholder, but 51 percent of nothing is nothing. So resign, clean out your office, and maybe we can salvage the company to the point where you'll still be getting income from your shares.'"

"So he went home," Dean said, "and sat there with nothing to do but talk to lawyers about being sued and stew about how much he hated Cas."

Sam nodded, and there was a moment of silence.

"According to Wikipedia, Chase was born in Kansas City, so that doesn't help us with where he might be keeping Cas, we already know he's familiar with the metro area. There's one kind of interesting thing," Sam said. "He started Gaillard when a book he wrote didn't sell as well as he wanted, and he blamed it on the publisher's marketing. Then apparently he really got into the publishing aspect, because it doesn't say anything about his writing anything else. I'm going to see if I can find anything about that book."

"I'm going to look at the video again. This time I'm going to focus on the space around Cas."

"Well, it sure helped when you studied it last time. But don't drive yourself too crazy looking at it."

"Oh, I'm gonna go all kinds of crazy later," Dean said. "But right now I won't. I can't."

They both stared at their devices again.

Two minutes later Sam chuckled. Dean, who'd been expanding an area of the video with his fingers, looked over.

"I am reading the world's nastiest book review, from the Detroit _Free Press_."

"Chase's book?"

Sam nodded and read. "'If you, or your 13-year-old daughter, have been impatiently waiting for a biography of Richard the Lionheart that crosses historical romance with fan fiction, Richard Chase's _The Devil Is Loose_ is the book for you both.'"

"Ow."

"'Blithely ignoring Richard's weaknesses as a king and a man, Chase focuses solely on his victories in the Crusades. Blithely ignoring the rapacity of the Crusader armies, Chase openly espouses the 12th-century profession that the wars were a struggle to save civilization from rapacious Muslims. And blithely ignoring the lack of any real evidence, Chase finds in Richard's rumored homosexuality the explanation for every aspect of his character.'"

"Hm," Dean said. "Wonder where that reviewer is now."

"Good thought," Sam said dryly. "We should check on him after we get Cas back."

"The anti-Muslim thing is interesting. Seeing that Chase is trying to convince everyone that Muslims kidnapped Cas."

Sam looked at him, a little startled. "Hadn't thought of that. I was thinking about his view of Richard. From what I remember, the guy was a jerk – good leader of armies, but a jerk. But Chase apparently sees him as some kind of virtuous conquering hero."

"A gay conquering hero."

"Yeah, that's interesting. I think I'll read up on Richard, maybe that tells us something about Chase."

Sam went back to his tablet, Dean back to the phone. Sam looked up the Wikipedia article about Richard the Lionheart, skimmed it about halfway down.

Then he made a little sound, went back to the top of the article, grabbed his pencil and paper, and started scribbling notes, more and more rapidly.

Using his fingers, Dean expanded one portion of the ransom video, looking puzzled.

Then his expression cleared and his eyes opened wide.

"I've got – " he said, and Sam said the same thing at the same moment.

They both grinned with excitement. "You first," Dean said.

"OK. Remember I said, in that interview, Chase was wearing a tie that looked like the royal coat of arms? The three lions? That was originally the seal for Richard the Lionheart. It was adopted for the British royal coat of arms later."

"And Three Lions is the name of one of his companies – " Dean was looking for his notes – "military history. So he's a Richard fanboy."

"I think it goes past that. Remind me of the names of the other companies." Sam was looking at his notes too.

"Well, Gaillard, of course – "

"The name of one of Richard's castles, he had a lot to do with designing it."

"Alys Press."

"The woman Richard was supposed to marry. Richard's dad took her instead."

"Great," Dean said dryly. "And RI Press."

"Richard I. He's more than a fanboy, Dean. He sees himself as the modern-day Richard the Lionheart. He's going to defeat his enemies and strike a blow against Muslims at the same time. He was the king of his – Gaillard castle, and he got dethroned. I don't know why he blames Cas instead of the guys who actually blew the whistle on him, but I think he does."

"I bet it's like Alys," Dean said. "The woman was just property, she had no choice but to get shuttled around to whoever claimed her. I bet that's the way Chase thinks of the guys he harassed. It's not their fault for turning against him – it's Cas's fault for taking them away."

Sam nodded. "Sounds right. Anyway, I don't think there's any way that Chase could form an LLC to hold a house without naming it something related to Richard I." He shook his head. "So all we have to do is come up with a list of possible LLC names, go through the Secretary of State's website to see if any of them actually exists, and then, county by county, figure out if any of the LLCs own property."

"I think we can narrow that down." Dean picked up his phone again, started the ransom video, and held it in front of Sam. Then he expanded part of the video to show the part of the ISIS flag that hung above Cas' head. "You see that?"

Sam wrinkled his brow. "I think so. It looks like the flag got torn, and hung up again sloppily. It's – " He looked more closely – "it's sagging off of something, kind of looks like it's suspended, nailed to like – a ledge, or something?"

"I think," Dean said, "that's a plate rail."

Wide-eyed, Sam looked again. "I think you're right."

"And Jess said those are in Victorian houses, right?"

"Right."

"Of course, there are Victorian houses in other counties – "

"But Lawrence has two historic districts full of them. Yeah, this is the place to start." Sam looked at his tablet. "OK. I'm thinking the Recorder of Deeds will be closing in a half-hour. Good thing they're only a couple of blocks away. We need to get over there, but separately. The police are going to be looking for two white males in their twenties charging around together. I've got the perfect cover story, so I'll get over there now and see if we can find out what property an LLC owns in Douglas County. You stay here for a couple minutes, look at the Wikipedia article on Richard, write down anything that might be good for an LLC name, then join me there."

"Got it," Dean said.

Sam jumped out of the car as Dean went from text messages to the phone's browser. Sam turned in the open door. "And just – and don't do anything that attracts attention when you're coming to the courthouse. Don't run. And, you know – try to look ugly."

Dean didn't even look up from the phone. "Try to look short."

Sam closed the door and headed for the parking garage's exit at a fast walk.


	6. Chapter 6

_"Doctor Who" fans – I have a story recommendation! Check out "The Poison Orchid" by Ilythia Major. It's exciting, funny, and moving._

.

Chase picked up Cas' phone, looked at it, put it back down. "Well, we still have some time before the second call, but I don't think it's too early to establish the rules."

He stood and moved over in front of Cas. "Look at me. Good. I have one card already written. You will read that as you read the others – exactly, word for word, changing nothing. But of course, we don't know what the situation will be on their end." He smiled sharply. "Hopefully your siblings are motivated enough to dig into their trust funds – "

"We don't have trust funds."

"Ah. Well, then, hopefully Dean or your siblings are motivated enough to contact your parents, whatever that takes. But since we don't know what they'll say, our responses will have to be ad-libbed. I will sit in front of you with blank cards and a marker. Whatever they say, I will write the response, and you will read it. There will be no improvisation on your part. You will read exactly what I write, changing nothing. If you do decide – "

"No," Cas said.

Chase stopped dead and looked at Cas as if trying to decide whether Cas was insane.

"My hands are numb," Cas said. His voice was hollow and raspy. "I'm trying not to move them, but I can't help it, and the cuffs keep tightening. The tissues of my hands might be starting to die. So unless you take off the cuffs, I won't read the note." He took a deep breath and tried to swallow. "And you can – hit me or tase me, whatever. None of that scares me as much as the chance of losing my hands. You can tape them to the chair, or something. But you'll either take these cuffs off – " he tried to clear his throat – "or use your own damned voice for the video."

Chase stood still for a moment. Then he moved sharply toward Cas and smiled when Cas flinched.

He pulled a keyring from his pocket and knelt behind Cas' chair. "I won't take them off," he said. "But I'll loosen them."

A short yell broke from Cas as the blood surged into the backs of his hands, his fingers. He wiggled his fingers frantically, overjoyed that there was feeling and movement in all of them.

Chase moved around from behind him. "Now you understand – "

"Water," Cas said.

"Stop interrupting me!"

"Give me some of that water. I can't read if my voice gives out."

Rigid, unblinking, Chase stared at him for a moment, and Cas looked back.

Then Chase went to the table, grabbed the pitcher of water by its handle, and went back over to Cas. He slammed the palm of his left hand into Cas' forehead, pushing his head back, and poured the water onto Cas' mouth.

He was desperate for it, so he opened his mouth and let the contents flood in, too fast to control, choking him. He tried to swallow as the water ran out of the sides of his mouth and backed up into his nose. Most of the ice was melted, but he could feel the points of the ice shards in his throat.

When the pitcher was empty, Chase stopped pressing Cas' head back. He walked over and slammed the pitcher on the table as Cas dropped his head forward and then straightened his neck, gasping, swallowing spasmodically, trying to convince himself that he wasn't choking. The water had soaked the dried vomit on his pants, and the stench was pungent. And even so, it was worth it to have water in his system, in his mouth.

"Who do you think you are, you little bastard?" Chase was raging. "Who do you think you are?"

Interesting. It flashed through Cas' mind. Cas was handcuffed, immobile, bloodied, exhausted. But even the most minor assertion of independence on Cas' part sent Chase into a rage, as though their situations were reversed. You had to wonder where that hysterical need for control came from.

"Thank you," Cas said quietly, trying to sound sincere.

Chase froze for a moment, almost visibly repressing his fury. Then he took a quick step toward Cas.

"I've spent – a lot of time thinking about ways to hurt you," he said, his voice shaking. "Don't push me."

Cas nodded, deliberately lowering his gaze.

.

When Sam walked up to the counter at the Recorder of Deeds' office, a short-haired cheerful woman wearing glasses smiled up 12 inches at him and asked, "Can I help you?"

"Yeah. Hi. I'm taking a summer law school class, and I'm doing a project about people hiding assets. The professor gave us a list of LLC names, but only one of them actually owns property in Douglas County. I figured the Recorder of Deeds office might be the place to find that out."

She looked a little puzzled. "So you don't have the address or the legal description of the property?"

"Right. Just the possible names of owners, and we need to find the address."

"We don't really have the ability to do that at the Recorder's office."

"Oh." Sam tried not to look as if the sweet little woman had just punched him in the gut.

"They might be able to do that at the County Clerk's office. Would you like to log on?" She pointed to a computer sitting on a nearby table.

"Definitely." Sam lunged toward the computer, and she followed him over there.

"Just click on that icon – that's Douglas County Access. I think what you want is Land Records Applications."

A short screen, just a few fields, popped up in front of him. He sat back. "I'd like to test this, if I knew a company that owned anything. Wait."

He typed in "Singer Auto Repair, Inc.," hit Enter, and the address of the shop where Dean went to work popped up.

He sucked in a breath. "Great. Great. Thank you."

"Let me know if I can be of any more help," she said, and went back behind the counter.

Sam put his tablet on the table beside him, dug his folded notes out of his pocket, and went to work.

A few minutes later Dean walked in and dropped down in a chair beside Sam, breathing a little heavily.

"You ran," Sam said without looking up.

"Just up the stairs. Anything?"

"Not so far." Sam looked at a list of crossed-off names. "I tried Chase, as both a company and a private name, Gaillard, Lionheart, as both one word and two, Coeur-de-Lion, Three Lions, Richard, Richard I, and Richard Chase. Give me more."

Dean was flattening out his own sheet of notes. "Alys."

Quick clicking of keys. "No."

"Henry. That's his dad."

"Henry Smith Farms. Way out of town. Might be a Victorian farmhouse."

"Be a good place to hold someone. I'll write down the address, you keep looking. Eleanor, that's Richard's mom."

"No."

"Berengaria, his wife."

"No."

They tried several more names. Eventually Dean said, "Plantagenet."

Sam shrugged and tried it. "No."

"Angevin. A-N-G-E-V-I-N."

Sam looked over. "What's that?"

"The family was descended from a guy who was the Count of Anjou, so they're called Angevin. After the Angevin Empire fell apart, the English part of the family is called Plantagenet. Something like that."

"I shoulda known that," Sam, the history major, said as he typed in "Angevin LLC."

Then his eyes went wide and he sat back. Dean looked at the screen.

"Right in the middle of the Old West Historic District," Sam half-whispered.

Dean was writing the address down. His voice was choked. "He was two minutes away from us."

"Maybe," Sam said, snapping out of it. "Maybe. Any more names?"

"That's it for me."

"OK." Sam pulled the tablet over to him. "Let's check these companies on the Secretary of State's website."

His fingers moved rapidly. "Henry Smith Farms, LLC. Articles of Organization. Organizer, Henry Smith. Registered agent, Shirley Smith."

"Angevin," Dean said tensely. "I know it's that."

"We think it's that. Angevin LLC – Organizer, Xavier Ward. Registered agent, Corporate Representation Inc."

"Professional registered agent, just like you said." Dean jumped to his feet, then looked down at Sam. "C'mon, Sam, what more do you want?"

"Dean, it won't help Cas, it won't help anyone, if we go smashing into the house of some – history professor who's in England half the year. Xavier Ward is probably somebody real. We need to establish a connection between him and Richard Chase."

"So Google the bozo."

Sam Googled the bozo, and a moment later said quietly, "Oh, Dean. He's a writer."

"So – " Dean got out half of "So what?" before his expression changed. "Yeah?"

" _The Murder of Rousseau: How Government and Electronics Are Killing the Social Contract_." He looked up. "Published by RI Press."

"Hot damn!" and Dean turned.

"Hot damn!" and Sam jumped up.

The commotion attracted the lady at the counter. "Is everything all right?"

Dean was already out the door. Sam grabbed the tablet and their notes. "Everything's great. Thank you. You're literally a lifesaver."

As he tore out, another woman looked up from her computer. "'Literally' a lifesaver?"

"He takes his homework more seriously than I ever did," the lady at the counter said, with a smile.

Police or no, Sam and Dean walked back to the car together at top speed. A block away from the garage, Dean broke into a run. Sam continued his fast walk and arrived at the garage entrance just as the Impala was pulling out.

Sam jumped in. Dean turned left onto a street, was forced to slow for pedestrians, and took a deep breath.

As if to give him something else to think about, Sam said, "So here's how it goes: Chase wants to get someplace that isn't associated with him to hold Cas. Maybe he wants a big Kansas homestead later on, that can be useful if you have to declare bankruptcy. He tells this paranoid writer that he wants to own property without, you know, the evil government knowing about it, makes up some reason. The guy follows the instructions on the Secretary of State's website, sets up the LLC, and when Chase finds the house, the LLC buys it. Of course Chase funnels the money for that to Ward – be interesting to know how they did that."

"Not really," Dean said between his teeth. He'd made it on to Massachusetts Street, but was finding the major downtown street as traffic-heavy as the other had been pedestrian-heavy.

"He's probably keeping a low profile in the neighborhood. My guess is, in a few months, he plans to have the LLC 'sell' him the house. Or have the LLC sell it to someone else."

"Uh-huh," Dean said. "OK. When we get there, this is the plan. I'm going to park a block away and go scope out the house. You wait two minutes and call the cops from the car, fill them in on everything when they get there."

"What the hell? I'm coming with you."

"No, you're going to call the cops, the guys with the actual weapons and the actual right to pound on Chase's door."

Sam thought for a moment. "You're giving me plausible deniability. Are you planning to kill Chase?"

"No, I'm not. I'm just – Look, Bobby's going to keep me on no matter what. Unless I shoot a puppy, or something. But if things go sideways today and we get in trouble, your legal career could be over before it even starts. You need to stay away from this."

Sam smiled a little. "I actually thought about this. And I decided – Is what I've wanted to do almost my whole life important? Yes. Is it more important than Cas? No. So we go in as a team. The world can always use more short-order cooks."

"Janitors," Dean said, turning off Massachusetts to a street of banks and small shops. "Nobody cleans up a place like you."

"Thanks. So what's the real plan?"

They discussed it as Dean drove past a church and stores, and into a residential area where the houses ranged from pretty to magnificent. They were, as Dean had said, about a two-minute drive from the house they'd been cleaning that morning.

They drove past the house first, at a normal speed but watching it carefully, and parked around the corner. Dean put on a pair of sunglasses that he kept in the car, pulled the baseball bat out of the back seat, and joined Sam on the sidewalk.

"Lose the sunglasses for now," Sam said quietly. "You look scary."

"Good," Dean said, but he hooked them over the neck of his T-shirt.

As they approached the house, Dean said, "Hm," and raised his hand very slightly to indicate something near the sidewalk. Sam nodded.

A walkway ran from the house's front door to the sidewalk, with a knee-high retaining wall on either side. Mounted on top of the walls' ends near the sidewalk were two 18-inch-tall stone statues of lions.

"Think he put those in?" Dean asked, keeping his eye on the house, as they walked past.

Sam spared a glance at one of the statues. "They look too old. But I think he saw them and said, 'This is the house for me.'"

Dean nodded. As they got past the house they turned and walked through the yard toward the back, trying to look as if they had every right to do so.

There was a two-car garage with an automatic door behind the house, and a privacy fence that ran from the corner of the garage to the house's back wall. Dean tried to push upward on the garage door, shook his head, and joined Sam by the fence.

It was tall. They looked for a way in briefly, then Sam said, "I'll give you a boost."

Dean lofted the baseball bat over the fence, hearing the thud as it hit the ground on the other side. With Sam's help, he scrambled over the fence and landed with a louder thud.

"OK?" Sam said quietly, into a crack between boards.

"Fine."

"All right. Start in when the doorbell stops ringing."

"See you inside," Dean said, and headed for the back door as Sam cut across the lawn to go to the front door.

He listened at the door for a moment, just in case he might hear something useful. He was happy that the storm door was unlocked; he tried the front door, just in case Chase had been dumb enough to leave that unlocked, but no such luck.

The front door was impressively solid, as they'd thought it would be. They were assuming the back door was flimsier, and he hoped they were right.

He rested the storm door against his back, drew and let out a deep breath, and rang the doorbell. It resounded clearly, he was sure Dean could hear it. He kept ringing the bell, hitting it over and over with his left thumb, and pounded on the door with the side of his right fist. There was a peephole in the door; he covered it with his right hand when he wasn't pounding on the door. He kept the doorbell going nonstop.

Then he started yelling. "Hey, Mr. Chase! There's smoke coming out of your house! Mr. Chase! Richard Chase! Your house is smoking! I think it's on fire!" He continued pounding, ringing and yelling with the desperation of someone trying to save a life – which of course he was.

Chase was sitting in front of Cas, a stack of poster-board cards and a marker resting on his lap. He had just picked up Cas' phone when the commotion started. His head jerked around and he went still. Cas tried to keep a surge of hope out of his face, but he couldn't help breathing more quickly.

Chase swiveled his head back, glaring at Cas. "Are you responsible for this?"

Cas returned his glare with a sardonic gaze. "How?"

Chase looked around and back again. "There's no one here. They'll go away."

Cas raised his eyebrows.

After several seconds, Chase dropped everything he was holding, stood, cut several inches of duct tape off of the roll, and put the tape over Cas' mouth.

They waited for a full minute, Chase pacing, Cas watching him.

A minute is a very long time when you're waiting for a threatening noise to stop.

"What is that idiot bellowing?" Chase snapped.

The yelling, pounding, and ringing continued unabated.

Chase snatched up the Taser and put in a new cartridge. He turned to Cas. "One sound from you, and I'll tase whoever is at the door. You know very well that this is effective for thirty seconds, and I'll kill whoever it is while he's helpless. His blood will be on your hands. Understood?"

Cas nodded, and Chase left.

Sam had the feeling that his right hand was going to be one massive bruise tomorrow, but at the moment adrenaline had him feeling no pain. He rang the doorbell ceaselessly. "Mr. Chase! Richard Chase! Your house is on fire! You need to get out! Richard Chase – "

The door opened a crack – on a chain, but it opened. "Stop yelling my name. What do – "

Sam's heart rate leaped when he recognized Chase. He didn't know that Chase had stalked Cas on Facebook, but he saw recognition in Chase's eyes.

It came a second too late. Sam had his foot in the door, stopped ringing the bell, and leaned on the door as hard as he could while Chase tried to slam the door shut.

"Give it up, Chase," Sam said breathlessly. "We know Cas is here. The police are on their way. Just give – "

And at that moment there were rending thuds and crashing glass as Dean, keeping his head turned even with his sunglasses on for some eye protection, vented all of his pent-up fury on the kitchen door with the baseball bat and his boot.


	7. Chapter 7

Chase's head jerked around, then jerked back, and Sam saw flat-out fear in his face.

"Just give up," Sam said, trying to sound as calm as he could. "A lot easier on you. We can tell the cops – "

Chase was gone. There was no more pressure from the other side of the door.

Sam pulled his foot out of the door so he could get some purchase and threw his full weight against the door. The wood didn't give way, but after the third assault the screws holding the chain bolt did, and the door flew inward. Sam grabbed the handle to keep from falling as he lunged into the house.

There were two large rooms, one on either side of him, each with a fireplace. The one to his left was empty; the one to his right held a simple chair, a coffee table, and a collapsible bookcase with some books on it. They were the kinds of furnishings you'd bring in by loading them in your car if you didn't want to call attention to your presence with a moving van. Sam could tell with one quick look that Chase wasn't in either room.

Directly ahead of him was a staircase and, next to it, a hallway leading to the back of the house – presumably to the kitchen and back door. Sometime during Sam's attack on the front door, the crashing sounds from the back door had stopped, but he couldn't see Dean.

Behind the left-hand living room was another room. He couldn't tell anything about it because the swinging door was closed. But it was rocking very slightly on its hinges.

Quietly, Sam crossed the hall and stood with his back to the wall between the living room and the swinging door. Stretching his arm out, he pushed very gently, swinging the door open a crack and looking inside.

Then he heard Dean's voice, broken and urgent: "Cas!"

Sam threw caution into the shredder and banged open the door.

This was the room where the ransom video had been made. There was an arch on the other side where a black drape was just falling back into place from Dean having pushed it aside. In one flashing instant, Sam saw Dean dropping the baseball bat and kneeling in front of Cas, Cas shaking his head while bellowing behind his duct tape gag, and Chase stepping out from behind the ISIS flag, raising a large flashlight-looking object over Dean's head.

"Dean!" Sam shouted.

Dean's head jerked up and he caught a glimpse of Chase behind him just in time. He threw up his arm, the club landed on it, and he yelled in pain. Sam ran forward and Chase pointed the flashlight at him. Sam jumped to the side and Chase made the mistake of following Sam with his gaze and the Taser.

Dean shot up, jerking Chase's shoulder, and plowed his fist into Chase's face. Chase yelled and blood spurted. Sam grabbed Chase's right arm and pulled it behind his back, wrenching it, as he yelled, "Drop that thing! Drop it!" and Chase did.

The Winchesters took him down, Dean pressing his hand against the back of Chase's head, crushing his broken nose into the floor as Chase bellowed again.

"Dean," Sam said urgently, kneeling on Chase's back. "I've got him. Get to Cas."

Dean's expression changed in an instant and he scrambled to his feet, moving back over to Cas' chair. He looked at Cas' hands, shook his head, and swore. "He's handcuffed."

"Good," Sam said. "Give me the key, Chase, now."

"It's in my front pocket," Chase grunted.

Dean knelt in front of Cas again. "Tape coming off in one, two – " He gave it a quick pull, and Cas grunted as it ripped over his injured lip. Dean touched his battered bleeding face. "You're alive. You're alive."

Cas' expression was alarmed. "That flashlight is a Taser. Don't let him get it."

Sam rolled Chase over so that he could get the handcuff key out of his pocket. Chase began to reach for his pocket, then sat up sharply and lunged, trying to stiff-arm Sam in the chest. Sam struck his arm aside, looking businesslike, and pinned Chase's hand to the floor.

"The Taser is on the floor behind me," Sam said. "You'll give me the handcuff key or I'll give you a shot and take it. Either way."

"Where are you hurt worst?" Dean asked Cas. "Can you tell?"

"I think he broke a rib in my back," Cas said quietly. "He slammed the Taser into my gut, that's why I smell like vomit. My vision is – I hope that's just a swollen eye."

"Yeah, it's swollen. You'll be fine, you'll be fine. Sam, just tase him and get the key."

Chase threw a keyring across the floor. Dean grabbed it, found the smallest key, and unlocked the handcuffs. With a grunt of pain, Cas moved his arms forward and started to slump over, then he cried out sharply and sat up straight.

Sam was kneeling on Chase's leg, still pinning one of his hands to the floor. "Over here," he said, holding up his free hand, and Dean tossed him the cuffs, which Sam caught one-handed.

"He was going to kill me," Cas said.

"But he didn't. He didn't. That's all that matters."

Dean looked around, grabbed the scissors from the table, and cut the duct tape off of Cas' legs with small regard for his jeans. Sam slapped a cuff on one of Chase's wrists and said briskly, "Roll over, Chase." Chase did, and Sam cuffed his other hand as he said, "Hang in there, Cas. We're calling the cops, we'll get you an ambulance."

Cas looked at Dean as directly as he could. "I have to get out of here."

"You need an ambulance," Dean said. "And we can't leave Sam alone."

"Take him into the front room," Sam said. "Chase isn't going anywhere. No place to lie down in there, though, no furniture."

"I'll sit on the floor." Cas' voice was still quiet. "I just can't stay in this room."

"Then you're out of here," Dean said.

Cas stood, reeled, sat down again. Then set his jaw and stood, leaning on Dean. They headed for the swinging door, and Dean looked back over his shoulder. "I'll call 911."

"Call Jess too, at my phone number," Sam said. "Tell her to tell everyone there."

Dean nodded, and the door swung shut behind them.

Sam started to stand, then knelt again beside Chase and said, "Roll over."

Chase flinched, trying to twist away from him. Sam had to use his muscles to get Chase on his back. "Tip your head back, maybe that'll help the bleeding."

Chase sniffed, cleared his throat. "There aren't any witnesses. I was sure you might have cared enough about the little sissy to want to inflict some pain. I certainly liked inflicting it on him."

Sam sat cross-legged. "Boy, you'd love it if I screwed up the situation by hurting you while you were helpless, wouldn't you? And yeah, it's hard not to consider that. But I don't want to mess up my enjoyment."

Chase raised his eyebrows, looking disdainful.

"I'm enjoying the fact that you just proved yourself to be a criminal and a sadist. The criminal case is going to be a slam-dunk. And then you'll get to deal with the lawsuits – " He looked around. "I figure if you're smart and cut a deal and settle the suits, you might be able to pay for the lawyer's fees and the settlements with this house. What did you do, mortgage the Kansas City house to buy this one? I think you'll be kissing them both goodbye. I'm enjoying the thought of you trading in your fancy suits and ties for prison gear. And I'm really enjoying the thought of you trying to impress a prison guard with that snobby aristocratic attitude. I'm not going screw up all that good stuff by doing something stupid like giving you the beating you deserve."

A minute later, the swinging door opened and Dean looked in. "OK in here?"

"No problem."

"EMTs are on their way. The police already had a car in the neighborhood. Apparently someone heard sounds like someone breaking into a house, but couldn't tell exactly where."

"Oh really?"

"Jess said a bunch of stuff real fast, I didn't catch it all, things like 'hero' and 'love' and 'wait for tonight,' you'll have to ask her exactly."

Sam gave a wry grin. "Hope we're not in jail tonight."

"No kidding."

There were voices in the front. Dean looked around, closing the door.

Sam stood, kicked the Taser well away from both Chase and himself, and raised his hands. "Here we go, Chase," he said. "First moments of your new life. Hope it was worth it to you."

.

It wasn't like Dean hadn't been here before, in a darkened hospital room sitting by the bed of a sleeping patient. Their father had been shot by a career asshole when he and Sam were 16 and 11, and while John had only required overnight observation, it had been the longest night of Dean's life outside of the night their mother died. He'd sat in a chair for hours while Sam, in the other chair, sagged against him and finally fell asleep resting on Dean's chest; there were couches in the waiting area, but neither of them would leave.

Three years ago, a little more, it had been Sam lying in a hospital with a bruised face, hooked up to a machine that inflated his punctured lung. Dean had missed a lot of that night answering questions in a police station, but had finally joined his father sitting vigil until there was daylight and Sam smiled at them sleepily.

And a couple of years ago he'd coordinated protective watches by the hospital bedside of a victim put into a coma by a murderer who matched some of his father's opponents in cold-bloodedness.

But this was Cas. And Dean felt like it was a part of him lying there, battered and lacerated.

Cas' eyes were shifting back and forth under their lids; Dean could see their movement even under the lid that was almost swollen shut.

Then his good eye flew open, he sucked in a hissing breath, and his hands clenched.

Dean put his hand on Cas' shoulder. "It's OK, Cas. You're safe. I'm here. I'm here."

The uninjured side of Cas' mouth pulled up in a smile. "Good to see you."

"Good to see you." Dean's tone was heartfelt. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. Pain-killers are good."

"Pain-killers are very good."

Cas seemed to drift mentally for a moment, but didn't go back to sleep. Then he asked, "Where's everyone else?"

"Michael can't come right now. They did reach him, told him what happened and that you're OK. He's doin' something where he can't leave right now, but he sent a message that he'll come visit as soon as he can."

Cas smiled. "Good."

"Gabriel's arranging something, but he'll be here later. Turns out he was in Vegas, and I have the feeling he might be bringing Celine Dion or someone to serenade you. Anna's driving up, she'll be here sometime tomorrow – well, later today. Rachel and Jess – " Dean grinned – "who are now BFFs – are crashing at Sam and Jess's place. Rachel's going to the airport in the afternoon. Your mom and dad's flight is coming into Atlanta, so Raphael's going to meet them at the airport and they're all flying into KC together."

"In a way I feel bad for disrupting everyone's schedule. But I can't tell you how much I want to see them all. Give them a hug. Even Raphael," and that one-sided smile quirked again. "There were moments when I thought I'd never see any of them again."

"You are not the one who disrupted the schedules. Just remember that."

"It's true, if I'd tried to put together a family reunion, this is not the way I would have chosen."

Dean chuckled.

"Sam's with Jess and Rachel, I assume."

"Yeah, he was going to stop at the QuikTrip and get a couple of things, but he should be home by now."

"Just now? From where?"

"The police station. I just got here about twenty minutes ago myself."

"Why?"

"Well – Yeah, you don't really know the details. Right after I got the ransom message, Sam and I took off to go find you. Well of course the police were wanting to talk to us – me really, I'm the one closest to you – but I didn't want to spend time talking to them, I wanted to spend time finding you. Well, their point of view is, if I'd talked to them that would have been the best way to work on finding you, and I guess I see their point even though I disagree with it. So they expended some time and effort looking for me and Sam, and they're ticked off about that. Then, you know, just operating on this wild theory that Chase is obsessed with Richard the Lionhearted, we broke down the doors to his house. Well, their feeling is – and again, I can see their point – you can't go around breaking and entering based on wild theories, just because you don't want to wait long enough to explain it to the police and hope they get a search warrant. So what with one thing – "

Cas' voice was surprisingly sharp. "Are you and Sam in trouble?"

"Well, I don't think we're in going-to-jail kind of trouble, but they might – "

"Are you kidding me?" Cas sat bolt upright, his deep voice suddenly filling the private room. "They know you saved my life, right? They know he was going to kill me?"

The machine to which Cas' forearm was connected began beeping, his pulse and blood pressure rates flashing red. "Calm down, Cas, it's OK. We're not – "

Cas snatched up the call button and pushed it. It started flashing red, too. "I am not going to calm down. They're going to unhook me from this thing and I'm going to the police and show them my face. And my back. I'm – "

"Cas, don't – "

" – going to tell them go look at that rope he was going to strangle me with and tell me how long they think I would have lasted if you hadn't – "

"Cas, you're freakin' out the machine – "

" – come in when you did. I'm serious, Dean. Get me some clothes."

"We're all right, Cas. Calm down. We're all right. And – " Dean couldn't resist a smile – "as awesome as I think it would be for you to go storming into police headquarters looking like – the Ghost of Christmas God Forbid, they already know how beat up you are. They took pictures. Remember? They took pictures of your face and back and everything. So they know how beat up you are. They're not gonna come down too hard on Sam and me."

"They'd better not."

"Did you need something?" a nurse asked as she walked in.

"When do I get out of here?" Cas asked, and he was trying to maintain his energy, but already his voice was fading.

"Tomorrow, according to the schedule. I think the doctor wants to do one more test before they sign off on you."

"Home, Cas," Dean said soothingly. "Back in your favorite chair. With your whole family fluttering around you. I can't wait to see Michael flutter."

Cas gave little short honks of laughter, lying back down. "Don't make me laugh, it hurts."

Dean looked up at the nurse and nodded. The nurse reassured the vital-signs monitor and it shut up; then she turned off the call light and left.

"If they give you and Sam any trouble," Cas said quietly, "I'll go to the media. I mean it."

"I know you do. Thanks."

"Well, if anyone – Did I say thank you to you and Sam?"

"About a zillion times. And – " Dean leaned over, his lips close to Cas' ear – "if you want to thank me more in a couple of weeks, that'll be fine too."

Cas smiled and lifted his hand. Dean clutched it, and they looked at each other.

"I made a decision," Cas said. "I mean, I'd pretty much already made it, but – what happened – reinforced it."

"About the doctorate?"

"I actually think I might go in a different direction."

Dean took in a breath. "What are you thinking?"

"I was thinking I might convert to Catholicism. Become a priest."

Dean's face went blank and his breath stopped.

Then his eyes closed and he laughed, rocking back in his chair, desperately trying to keep himself quiet, listening to Cas' little pained bleats of laughter.

"You son of a bitch," Dean said between gasps. "That's it. I'm officially done feelin' sorry for you."

"Sorry. I couldn't resist." Cas sobered. "I have made a decision, though. I'm not going to get a doctorate."

Dean shook his head. "No. Bad decision."

"Why?"

"Because you've always wanted to be a tenured professor. Because you'd be a damn good one. I made a decision, too. Priorities get very clear when you're afraid you'll never see someone again. I do have a future at Bobby's shop, but let's face it, I can work with cars anywhere. I'm going to Chicago."

"Well, that will be rather depressing, since I'll be in Lawrence."

Dean shook his head again. "It'd be great, but – doing what?"

"I'm going to become a therapist, a counselor. It'll require my getting another degree, but I can get that at KU. I decided that the academic – "

Dean burst into laughter again, and Cas looked baffled.

"Sorry," Dean said, controlling himself. "It's just – you listened to these guys spill their guts, and you helped them get some courage and self-confidence, and it damn near got you killed. So you decide this is what you want to do the rest of your life?"

Cas smiled too. "Well, when you put it like that – In many ways, I do love the academic life, detailed exploration of interesting work. It's like lighting a candle in a tiny corner of a huge house – your one candle may not look like much, but with enough people working, the whole house gets illuminated, room by room. But at the same time, I love having contact with different kinds of people, different interests, different – well, different psychologies. If I could help people directly make a difference in their own lives, well, that would be like lighting small individual candles too. And I think I'd be good at it."

"You'd be great at it. Truth be told, Cas, you'd be great at anything you turned your hand to. I just don't want there to be – problems between us, in the future, you know, because you gave up your dream for me."

"I'm not. As you said, priorities get clear very quickly in these circumstances." He reached for Dean's hand, and Dean clasped it. "This is my dream. This, that we have between us. This is the dream I will not give up."

Dean looked as if he were going to say something, but stopped. He wiped his face under one eye with his free hand.

Cas sighed. "I keep zig-zagging between sleeping and waking up terrified," he said. His good eye was fighting to stay open. "I know you must be exhausted, but would you stay with me an hour or two?"

"I'll be here until dawn," Dean said. "And for the rest of my life."

.

.

THE END


End file.
